The Eight Stages of Falling In Love
by Itar94
Summary: [MODERN AU] Gimli, a Dwarf of Erebor, just wants to write a fic of mind-blowing proportions. That's all. Maybe gain a few more tumblr followers. Then along comes this beta who's surprisingly good at what they do. And Gimli grows a bit attached to them, reluctant as he is to admit it - but, by Mahal's beard, that amount of snark shouldn't be legal even on the internet!
1. Prologue

_**Author's note**: __This is a modern AU wherein there are elves, hobbits, dwarves and men, but also telephones, internet, tumblr and fanfiction. So. Yeah. At the bottom of this chapter there's an extensive note that covers a lot of background information on this AU-world. This is also the first part in a series, _There's a Writer For Every Beta (and Vice Versa). _  
_

_Now for some reason, this site doesn't like my formatting. This fic contains quite a lot of emails (well what is meant to be emails) but all the at-characters and dots keep being removed, much to my frustration, so at the moment I'm more or less "spelling out" the email addresses - which also are fake and hopefully won't coincidence with anyone's real email. If they do then I apologize beforehand! All assumed email addresses, aliases and names are unreal. These tumblrs and AO3-accounts don't exist. If they do, the characters in this story didn't make them!_

_ Also originally there was meant to be different colours and a lot of other complicated things that works in Word but not on this site. So if you compare this story here to on AO3 where I've also uploaded it, you might notice some difference in formatting, which is just because of the limitations of each site._

_Now...enjoy!_

* * *

**PROLOGUE**

It ends much like this (but it's still not quite an ending):

The screen is partly covered by post-it notes, most of which has text in fiercely red letters on them but also a few messages in green, bright and lively. A cup of simple black coffee stands beside it on the rather littered desk, still steaming slightly. The door is half-opened.

Activity from various parts of the building can be heard; from the kitchen nearby, the clattering of pans and the opening of a fridge; voices, one bright and soft and the other rather rough. There's a faint ringing sound far-off, which the speakers first doesn't notice – too preoccupied with each other no doubt. The faint smell of waffles can be felt.

After some time, once the clattering has lessened and the kettle is on, footsteps near the study. The small wardrobe-made-into-office (there's no room left anywhere else in the apartment) floods with light.

* * *

**Inbox (76)**  
Junk Mail (9)  
Drafts (2)  
Sent (0)

* * *

To: G. G. Axes at ardamail_._com  
From: dw. alin. the. master_at_ardamail_._com  
2013-09-09 12:09:53

**Subject: Re: re: My Patience Is Wearing Thin**

_Listen you lazy clod, have you taken up my advice yet? HAVE YOU?! The Company have now also been adjourned and your cousins have even begun attacking ME about this matter. Wholly unfair. Also annoying._

_Your silence displeases me greatly. I DEMAND YOUR IMMEDIATE REPLY. DO NOT STALL ANY LONGER, OR DURIN'S BANE SHALL BE UPON YOU._

_Best Regards,_

_The Master Dwarf_

_(P.S. Congratulations on the apartment. When will you invite us over to celebrate? Make sure there is food and lots of it!)_

* * *

**You've got kudos! **

22 guests, adventurer14, MajorlyMajesticDWARF, treehopper and fanaticalreader007 left kudos on Destiny.

9 guests and silverharpminstrel left kudos on Digging in the Rock.

* * *

The ringing in the background grows louder. An age-old tune is played, short and repetitive. Finally, the sound is recognized by the building's inhabitants.

* * *

To: G. G. Axes_at_ardamail_._com  
From: elftwins_unseparable at_ardamail_._com  
2013-09-09 16:17:02

**Subject: Re: Kindly wondering/request (related to Grand Upcoming Event)**

_Dear Master Dwarf,_

_I __**we**__have paid careful heed to your request. It's __blue__**green**__ ELLADAN STOP INTERRUPTING ME that's the best colour, plus silver; he likes that too. And really where are our invitations? It's quite rude not to invite us. Officially. You know a letter in a fine envelope and with a stamp on it, not a tumblr message. ALSO, FACEBOOK STATUSES CHANGING LIKE THAT? HAVE YOU ANY IDEA HOW THRA__Shut up El we've already had this discussion with Master Dwarf and we are all quite aware of the situation and anyway who cares it's not our business some people don't like when their sons are going__kuakeb ejhgbed ndl._

_Will Fíli and Kíli be there? Do invite them, please. They WON'T ruin anything; we swear we'll make sure of it __and booze__. ELLADAN. STOP. Please do apologize my brother's quirks, Master Dwarf, he's trying his best. ELROHIRR AHSBKEJ ND!MF-_

_..ehnfnjkeb02i_

_.hehyf_

_._

_Anyway we'll solve this matter privately and hope your questions are now answered. Please return if WAIT A MOMENT I HAVE A QUnho93 , El! Let me ask_

_AGAIN SORRY ABOUT MY BROTHER_

_Salutations, __what's with the formality?_

_El & El_

* * *

**Comment on ****Destiny****. ****BofurWithAHAt**** left the following comment on ****Destiny:**

_Oh. MY. GOD._

_THIS._

_**THIS**__._

_I can't even. Just. AWESOMENESS. This might be this best thing you've __**ever**__ written. KEEP AT IT!_

_Btw, your beta, is it really __this__ person? picture post at __ post/199203/bff-meet-up-erebor__/ (on the left next to that beardish man?)_

_If it is __**then I am jealous VERY MUCH**__!_

_+1000 and eternally a fan of you, sir!_

Posted: 2013-09-08 12:20:12

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* * *

The ringing continues, persistently, until inaudible footsteps cross the wooden floor. There's a soft click.

"Hello?"

* * *

To: dw. alin. the. master_at_ardamail . com  
From: G. G. Axes_at_ardamail . com  
2013-09-11 20:02:31

**Subject: Re: re: re:** **My Impatience Is Wearing Thin**

_Master Dwalin,_

_I am working on it. What you think I have been doing locked up in Da's workshop the last two weeks? It has to be no less than perfect. You ought to understand._

_Now stop bothering me. Could you please ask Thorin to keep my cousins in check? I'm tired on them calling me every eight minutes. I am not an invalid. Also tell them IT IS NOT TRUE. WHATEVER THEIR DIRTY MINDS MAY THINK, IT'S NOT TRUE AND DON'T LET THEM DEFILE THE MINDS OF ANY OF MY FRIENDS. Thank you._

_Best Regards,_

_Unquestionable Power of Axes_

_PS. Yes, yes, I'll organise a party when everything else has been taken care of. YES, there will be food, and the whole Company shall be invited. Now give me a break! DS._

* * *

To: elftwins_unseparable at_ardamail . com  
From: G. G. Axes at_ardamail . com  
2013-09-11 20:12:01

**Subject: Re: re: Kindly wondering/request (related to [the] Grand Upcoming Event)**

_Thank you, Master Elves._

_Despite your honestly worrisome ramblings I have managed to decipher the necessary information. You have my gratitude. (Unbelievable as it may seem.)_

_Since you so insist, please check your mailbox – the physical one – within the following week. There ought to be an envelope. Yes, with a stamp. But don't tell the elf. If you ruin this surprise you will find my axe swiftly buried in areas you don't want it._

_My cousins will only be there __**if**__ Strider is present. He's the only one who can keep YOU, and therefore them, in check. I shall invite your father of course._

_/G._

_PS. Your messages always seem to end up among my junk mail. Could you please stop spamming? It clogs up my system. DS._

* * *

A voice calls from the other room: "Gimli, Aunt Dís in on the phone! She wants to talk with you."

"I'll be right there!"

* * *

**Comment on ****Destiny****. ****pointygreyhat**** left the following comment on ****Destiny:**

_Pure excellence! You have had me entirely hooked all the way. My compliments. Your writing standard truly has risen as of late. Do keep your current beta intact!_

Posted: 2013-09-11 04:04:04

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That might be how it ends (although it is but the mere _beginning_ of an end).

But _this_ is how it starts...

_(Previous entry) (Next entry)_

* * *

_Here we have the Long Note. (Feel free to skip past it.) Great liberties have been taken when writing this story __and some things may need explanation:_

_(1) Names, URLs, emails or the like are NOT real. If they happen to be functioning if you copy-paste them into your browser, then I apologize to whoever owns said address for the inconvenience._

_(2) Some of the fandoms mentioned within are familiar and real, such as Doctor Who. They haven't changed from how we know them today (except maybe instead of actors who are all human, there are Elves involved as well. And Hobbits and Dwarves can also be seen on set.)_

_(3) SA = Seventh Age (of the Years of the Sun), as stated on lotr . wikia wiki/ Timeline_of_Arda (scroll down to Brief Timeline to see the list there). It makes sense that Middle Earthians would still use those markers; a bit like we may use B.C. and A.D., except to a greater extent, in every-day context and not just in history books._

_(4) This story assumes that, while it being the modern day, the earlier events of Arda really happened. It's in the history books. But back in the Sixth Age in the year of 1915-ish a guy named Tolkien took his time actually writing not history books but this epic story about events between the start of the world and the Third Age, and he wrote for years and years and years. I suppose he's Mannish but of course he was fluent in kind of every Middle Earthian language there is. These books made a fandom which is HUGE and parents in the Sixth and Seventh Ages started naming their kids after all these amazing, long-ago heroes like ". And not long ago a Hobbit named Peter Took-Jackson made a series of films about these books and the three most recent ones are part of the 'There And Back Again' arc about a little Hobbit (hence why every Baggins nowadays are so frickin' proud, like; "MAN, WE SAVED THE WOOORLD") going on an adventure with 13 dwarves ("Yeah right," thinks the dwarves, "but if we hadn't brought the burglar you'd never have, so there!")._

_(5) This of course means all races are intact. Hobbits strongly refuse to live on the second floor, while Elves thrive in skyscrapers and like being so close to the sky (cue interesting interspecies dinner-parties). Even the occasional Ent may be seen strolling through the park, but usually not since they don't like cities but you can still visit them in the depths of New Fangorn Forest (unless you're a lumberjack)._

_(6) The school system here is, as briefly as it is mentioned, mainly based on the English system. Meaning 13th year is at College/High School when you're 18 years old. (This is both the main characters' ages.)_

_(7) While the characters' races have been kept, the way they age has been altered just a little bit; or rather their coming-of-ages. Elves are immortal and Dwarves live for like 200 years and Hobbits live longer than Men usually do, but mature in the same rate as Men; so they are all teens ate the same time. However the time of "coming of age" differs because of race. For Men this is 18, Dwarves and Hobbits 19 and Elves 20 – Why? I'd have kept the original legal ages for each race (Hobbits 33, Elves 50 and so on) but it would just complicate things too much and I wouldn't be able to write all races going to school side-by-side. How unfair wouldn't it be if a Man attended some 12-13 years and an Elf had to attend like 40 just because they're not legal anyway? Therefore, I changed it._  
_And yes, Men are probably very jealous. At 80 they'll be old and grey and the Dwarves still look like 30 (but with better beards), not to mention the Elves (minus the beards)!_

_(8) And thus apropos that: there is some racism being expressed in this story of the Elves vs. Dwarf vs. Men vs. Hobbits variety. Not overly much but the story sometimes addresses age-old prejudices. Because I couldn't honestly see a fully prejudice-free future Middle Earth even if Elves, Men, Hobbits and Dwarves have been living side-by-side for ages, inventing electricity and telephones and the internet. If this bothers anyone or causes offence, I apologize, for it was not my intent._

_Here ends the Long Note. (Phew.)_


	2. Part 1

**PART 1**

_Morning dawned, bright and clear, over the city. Sunlight danced_

'Danced'? That sounds like what an Elf would write! Maybe 'filtered down'…but through what? The canopy – _which_ canopy? Or the clouds? No, that won't do. After a moment of thought he presses backspace repeatedly and starts again:

_Sunlight fell upon the stone gates, tall and proud as they reflected the wealth of the city. Upon each side of the gates stood a large statue; cut out of the bare rock, finely chiselled down to the last detail by __many/__several generations of Dwarves, as an abundant (?) testament over their power, their knowledge and their ultimate kingdom._

_They were wide open, as spring had come thawing away the cold snow of winter and soon, traders would_

A voice thunders from below, vibrating through the floor: "Dinner-time!"

He pauses, hands hovering over the keyboard, still thinking about the wording as he distractedly replies. "Yes, coming! One minute, Da!"

_come flooding with goods from far and wide to the famous market of Dale. It was going to be a good day, of this the young Dwarf Prince was sure as he opened his dark eyes as he woke, sleep lingering in their cor_(backspace backspace backspace) _depths._

Yes, that's a better word.

_All was calm. None knew of the darkness which already was moving/sweeping (?) closer. (_Evolve idea.)

_But then, suddenly, the_

"Son, the food's getting cold!"

_door was roughly opened as a page entered _(blustering? Bumbling? WHICH WORD?) _the chamber. The servant had always been loud and rather clumsy, not quite a good servant to be honest; and the morning routine was quite annoying to_

"Gimli!"

Footsteps, growing louder, echo up the stairs. He twists his head slightly toward the door, yet not taking his eyes off the incomplete sentence before him; "Yes, I'm _coming_!"

With a frustrated sigh he stares at the screen. The majority is still blank and white. Why is it that _every_ time he has a grand idea he seems unable to put it into words? Now when reading through the text, it seems entirely pointless. It makes no _sense_. He has the plot, clear in his mind: every event. But this is his third rewrite and every time he comes to _that_ point in the text, everything just halts – like a train wreaking havoc before reaching even the first station.

The Dwarf glances at the he'd notes scribbled during the geography lesson this Friday and the jumbled words stare back at him blankly. _Morning, dwarfprince+servant dialogue_, it reads, _sudden panic, _something; it could be _roll _or _doll? … _Right_, warning bells toll_ and _FIRE_(heavily underlined). All in all, very basic.

Almost _too_ basic.

He hasn't even arrived at the dialogue yet!

"GIMLI!"

With a sigh, he closes the lid of the laptop. Maybe later. After the steak. Then he'd better check to see if he's gotten any new messages – most of it is usually spam or short messages from either of his cousins asking if he could meet them for coffee at Erebor's Gem downtown when they _know_ when he is busy writing doing homework (or should be busy doing it). And maybe he'd see if has made any updates – they always rec the best fics.

* * *

His Da is not that concerned with his silence. He's mostly busy anyway in his workshop – he has his own small business, making jewellery; all kinds of folk, not merely Dwarves, are interested in that and business goes well. Glóin is used to that his eighteen-year-old son, when not attending lectures at school, spends most of his time by his desk. He's never been that interested in the writing or blogging or whatever he does in itself, although he _does_ wonder if Gimli really spends as much time doing homework as he claims.

"So are you going to meet with your cousins this weekend?" Glóin asks.

They are pretty much the only people his son spends time with. Well, in the physical sense of the word at least. The old Dwarf cannot quite understand this whole thing about being online and has no need to either; his generation doesn't require constant updates, and he's content spending his energy and time in his jewellery shop.

"Well, I guess so," Gimli says distractedly, chewing on a potato.

"You could study with them. Don't you often go to that coffee-shop downtown? You ought to bring your books."

Gimli stares at his father incredulously. He can't for his life image Fíli or Kíli doing anything but sharing gossip and picking fights and pulling pranks – when he shares classes with them, they mostly sleep or doodle in their notebooks alternatively. And winter break isn't over yet!

"Well, yeah," he says at length.

(For the next few days, said books will remain lying burrowed at the bottom of the backpack pushed into the corner of the wardrobe.)

* * *

Before leaving the house, he takes five minutes to check his emails; the habitual skimming over spam to see if there's been any recent updates or any alerts doesn't take long. There is usually not that many anyway. He usually takes to following only one story at the time, if it truly has gotten him on edge with anticipation; but mainly he likes reading completed stories. Starting a story with good plot, decent characterizing and a surprising twist mid-way only to realize it is marked work in progress is always as frustrating.

(Every time he tries explaining this to Kíli, his cousin would only stare at him in utter befuddlement. Then again, he doesn't understand the point of watching Doctor Who either; instead he spends his time causing trouble with his brother and attending those bloody archery lessons, of all things!)

* * *

**Comment on ****Digging in the Rock****. ****rockingmarchwarden left the following comment on Digging in the Rock:**

_Awesome fic at first but the plot disappeared half-way and … and then wtf?! And the pairing doesn't really make sense to me. Couldn't understand really and WHYYY IS THE ENDING SO FUCKING SAD!?_

Posted: SA 2013-01-01 19:22:30

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* * *

Well, he's not that surprised at the reaction. For some reason he doesn't understand, in most fandoms he ships the most unusual pairings. Unusual as in not mainstream; however, they make perfectly sense to him. And then when he sometimes admits to liking canon ships that no one else does, people tend to want to throw (cyber) rocks on him – that is, if they notice him. Which they mostly don't. He has a few loyal readers (such as BofurWithAHat) and if he gains some dozen comments on a story he is happy about that; albeit he must admit he does glance slightly jealously at the famous names like FrodoLives101 and their 2350-ish comments.

The Dwarf opens the next message, barely hopeful.

* * *

**Comment on ****Digging in the Rock****. ****Strongbow left the following comment on Digging in the Rock:**

_So happy that I found this story – I wasn't even aware of this pairing before!_

_You gave it a perfect ending. Bittersweet but __**sooo**__ good; there was no other way to finish it and my heart really broke when reading, but it was truly astounding. Your ideas are wonderful and you did a great job. I am quite jealous, you know! Do keep on writing these amazing things!_

_This pairing's new to me and apparently quite rare; I couldn't find anything really featuring them and it's a pity you've not written anything more about them. If taking the time to reply to this comment, do you have tips on good fics with them, please? (Filled with a sudden need.)_

Posted: SA 2013-01-02 12:55:01

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* * *

On the other hand, unlike FrodoLives101 (who probably has no time for it) he cares for each and every one of his readers and tries to reply to every comment he gets. Even when they are foulmouthed bordering on the extreme or just plainly make no sense. So getting this kind of response makes him a very happy Dwarf, especially since the name is new; it's not just a kind habitual comment, but something honest.

* * *

**Re: Your comment on Digging in the Rock**

_Greetings and thank you, Strongbow! I am glad you enjoyed it._

_I agree; there's not much of this pairing to be found. It's a pity there are really no mentions of them in any meme to be found. I have prompted some __here__ and there is a fill or two __here__ as well, if you hunger for more._

Would some self-promotion be good or bad? His next story won't even be in the same fandom.

_You might enjoy my next story, although it's not in this fandom. Are you a reader of 'There And Back Again?' The live film adaptation was wonderfully made. Anyway, that is the fandom. The tone of my next story will be similar to this, but on a __much__ bigger scope._

_Thank you for reading!_

_/Power_of_Axes_

* * *

It is 14:03 when he clicks the send button and, simultaneously, his cell-phone vibrates on the desk and blinks, loudly begging for attention. He glances at the screen barely containing a sigh when seeing who is so viciously texting him.

The message silently screams: 'Where are you i'm bored cheer me up'

Gimli picks up the phone and replies: 'There is something called punctuation. Ever heard of it, cousin?'

At 14:06 comes the answer, 'yu're borign and a grammarnazgûl yes indeeeeed', which Gimli _knows_ is purely to drive him mad.

* * *

To: underthetrees at_ardamail_._com  
From: JustAnotherRanger_84 at_ardamail_._com  
SA 2013-01-02 16:23:54

**Subject: Downtown?**

_Hey! Care meeting later today? Will have access to car. El & El promise to come. Eastfarthing Coffeeshop at 5:30 pm? I can pick you up if you'd like._

_/A._

* * *

When seeing the message, he sighs loudly, exasperated. But his father's adamant. There is no way to persuade him to let him leave the house, not when there's still so much homework and especially not on a _Monday_ of all days: so the blonde Elf clicks reply and types for a minute. The dark wildly furred cat in his lap purrs contently, as if unaware of its owner's frustration.

* * *

To: JustAnotherRanger_84_at_ardamail_._com  
From: underthetrees at_ardamail_._com  
SA 2013-01-02 16:52:01

**Subject: Re: Downtown?**

_I'm sorry, but my father won't let me. I'll probably be stuck at home until I've done all my homework – you know how he is, more stubborn than even a Dwarf! - but Saturday maybe?_

_Tell the twins I said hello. And don't do anything I wouldn't do! Tell the twins ESPECIALLY that!_

_Cheers,_

_Legolas_

* * *

The urge to open a new tab is strong, but the sooner he finishes that essay, the quicker he may find time to do other funnier things. So stifling the sharp desire he closes the laptop lid and glances at his books.

Aragorn's lucky; his adoptive father may be strict, but _nothing_ like Thranduil. The Elf snorts wryly at the thought. Yes – nothing like Thranduil. Whereas Elrond has shown nothing but support toward all of his children, even more so after the twins revealed their bisexuality (no surprise to anyone), Legolas really can't imagine his father reacting so calmly at a similar revelation. He reacted badly enough when a younger Legolas asked why he couldn't go to a public elementary instead of being home-schooled. Honestly, he'd grown _horns_.

Thus why he never ever lets his father find out what kind of blog he has, or what he writes. What he _reads_. He'd go berserk for sure. He's already quite tense with the way he dresses, with the knitted jumpers and the colourful bracelets and, by Valar, the _earrings,_ but at the moment he passes off as a 'phase' that his son will surely grow out of soon. Legolas happily lets him believe so. Soon, soon he'll be of age and then he'll be out of here, but his own apartment and apply for Lórien Art and Writing University (LAW Uni). (His father won't be fooled by the abbreviation for very long.)

The Elf returns to the papers spread over the kitchen table, absently stroking the cat's fur with his right hand as he picks up the pencil with his left. Now, let's see … history. Right. Umbar. Something about corsairs back in the in 3rd Age …

* * *

"You didn't answer my calls," is the first thing Kíli says, promptly, when they finally meet up in a corner street of Dale. Frost bites at their cheeks as they hurriedly cross the street; they'd opted for taking the bus instead of walking, because the roads are still so icy and slippery (and Gimli has a suspicion that his cousin would take pleasure in constantly trying to make him trip). A faint ringing bell sounds as they push open the door. Inside, it's warm and cosy, and the air smells of freshly baked pastries. Mm, raspberries.

Gimli is quite reluctantly there, even though the muffins are _very_ good and the coffee is excellent. A notepad is stuffed in his pocket. He's always been traditional like that, liking to sketch out a story with pen and paper, albeit editing is much easier by the computer. But it's perfect when he is struck by plot bunnies, which happens most often at school or other public places when he doesn't have access to anything else.

"You didn't answer _any_ of them!" his cousin goes on irritably. "Today _or_ yesterday."

"I answered your texts," Gimli answers with a grunt. "All 38 of them."

The younger Dwarf doesn't look apologetic the least. "I was _bored_, okay?"

"Well, go de-bore yourself on someone else next time! I was busy."

"With those stories again?" He sounds fairly aggravated. (But then again he often does.) "It is an, um, Superiorly Natural thingy now?"

He rolls his eyes at his cousin's blatant overdoing. He's not really _that_ stupid. "_Supernatural_. And to answer your question, no. Anyway," he says quickly, because somehow it feels wrong to spill the plot of his latest idea to his oblivious cousin. It would take away the edge of his plan, and they would only cause him to write yet another crack!fic and he would get totally off track. "Where's your brother? Wasn't he supposed to be here?"

He orders a coffee; black, no sugar. Kíli takes something very a lot of whipped cream and a spoonful of sugar – which he honestly doesn't need, he's hyper enough anyway - and together they take seat in a corner of The Prancing Pony. They manage to find an empty table against all odds, a small table-lamp casting a yellow glow on the square tablecloth.

It's a highly popular place (everyone within a twenty mile radius has heard of the fabulous barista Butterbur in charge) and lots of people are there now in the afternoon; Men and Dwarves mostly, but there are a couple of Elves there as well – a couple of women with high heels (as if they need them!) and very bright, soft voices. Upon seeing them, Gimli can't hold back a snort. Elves! Even in this Age they keep being so high and mighty. Though these two keep giggling over something – not acting like age-old wiz-heads, rather manic teenage girls - pouring over a magazine or another; something that Gimli probably does not read.

Anyway.

"Fíli will be here in a minute. But honestly, Gimli! You spend all day cooped up on that fiction site and isn't social at all. However are you going to get a boyfriend at this rate?"

Gimli swats him over the head. "I'm not in a hurry for a boyfriend. And I _am_ social, you dim-wit. See, I am even taking time to hang out with you and willing to overlook your most annoying perks over a friendly cup of coffee."

"But I saw it – your notebook. Which means I am going to sit here and talk, and you're going to sit there and write and be unsociable."

Kíli's expression is a testament of utter pain and Gimli swats his head again. Because he can, and his cousin is being ridiculous. Really!

"Untrue! I merely chose not to listen to your ramble once it's gotten uninteresting. There's a difference."

Kíli pouts, which is entirely unbecoming one of Durin's folk. He doesn't brighten until his brother arrives, armed with just ordered pastries that smell sweetly, and despite his initial impatience Gimli launches into conversation with them both. Soon they speak vividly and joke loudly, and his earlier worries are entirely forgotten.

Until he gets home that is.

* * *

**Re: re: Your comment on Digging in the Rock**

_Yes, I'm an avid fan of There and Back Again, just as with the rest of the books in the 'verse. It's an amazing series! It will be interesting to see what you'll come up with. Will definitely bookmark this page in wait for a future post!_

_/Strongbow_

* * *

It's kind of uplifting. Maybe he could seriously write that story without giving up half-way. Maybe. Perhaps. Someday…

If only the words would come to him and make sense!

* * *

A gentle snowfall brushes against the windows. Frost rims the edges of the glass. The sun has already started settling, but he can't see the red disc slip beneath the horizon because the tall fir trees are in the way.

The Mirkwood Residence lies rather remotely outside of town - of course his father also owns a house at the centre too, for his business' sake, but during winter and summer breaks this is where the family of Eryn Lasgalen is vested in along with a small set of servants.

Or at least one half of the family.

The age-old butler has gone with his father on business, and the cleaning main has retired for the day. This leaves Legolas on his own.

At five past six, his cell vibrates and he abandons the books, glad for the distraction. His father should be back any minute now, he thinks absently, glancing at the clock. Unless he's called to some urgent meeting of course, or decides to work overtime as he often does; without warning other than calling to curtly say that he'll be home at nine or later.

The large, empty house is very silent and chilly. Legolas has tried shutting the quietness out with headphones and hold back the cold by wearing two pair of socks, but the floors still are unforgiving even if Elves usually are unbothered by such temperatures. Every lamp in the room is lit, glowing white and bright. He's never been really comfortable with the open plan of this house.

There's … well, there's _too_ _much_ space, which is a very odd complaint coming from an Elf. It's not really the space itself that's bothering him. It's the _silence_, heavy and dull, and the bareness of the walls. The sofa, white and pristine, looks like it's never been sat in and there are very few paintings, all of them very anonymous. And outside of the grand mansion, even in the high throes of summer, the garden is too … well, _tooperfectly aligned_. Legolas wouldn't have minded if there were more trees, a couple of birches perhaps, and thicker grass and wilder flowers spilling over their beds. But now the snow lays thick outside and the birds have flown south. All is still.

Everything around him looks new and unused – the cleaning personnel certainly make sure of that. There's nothing cosy_, _nothing _homely_.

'Too bad you couldn't come,' the text in his hand says. 'Arwen's here.'

Legolas smirks, thinking of his friend's totally obvious infuriation with her; the female Elf is several years older than the Man (not that it's physically noticeable), a healthy 46-year-old contra Aragorn's twenty-two. (And _yes_, if asked Legolas will admit that it's very annoying that his best Mortal friend is older than himself.) In all honesty he's been waiting for the last two years for either of them to make a move.

'Say hello from me will you? And, you two should get a room. I can FEEL you making eyes at each other all the way from here.'

The reaction is swift. 'LIAR!'

'You're blushing aren't you? Aragorn and Arwen, sitting in a tree'

He hits send before he can finish, collapsing over the table in a sudden insane fit of giggles. He pictures with ease the young Man's expression and squirming. Finally, there's an answer – furiously flashing across the screen. The words appear to have been stabbed into the device with the mightiest force the Man could summon:

'LEGOLAAASS! SHUT UUUP!'

He fumbles somewhat with the phone, shoulders still shaking. 'Ask El & El to take a picture for me OK?'

* * *

Back to square one. But third time (well, fourth, to be honest) is the charm. He hopes.

_Morning climbed over the hills and settled in the valley below. Its light made the while stone walls of the buildings appear pearly and white. The city, carved into the mountain itself, was already awake, servants scurrying from one corridor to another, busy with work. The sky was clear and it was quite warm for a spring day._

_Sunlight fell upon the stone gates, tall and proud as they reflected the wealth of the city. Upon each side of the gates stood a large statue; cut out of the bare rock, finely chiselled down to the last detail by generations of Dwarves, as a prodigious testament over their power, their knowledge and their ultimate kingdom._

_They were wide open, as spring had come thawing away the cold snow of winter and soon, traders would come flooding with goods from far and wide to the famous market of Dale._

_All was calm. If a storm was coming, none were aware. None knew of the darkness which already was sweeping closer to the vale, step by step. None had heard its warning, chill wind coming from the north. No bells tolled. Not yet._

_It was going to be a good day; of this the young Dwarf Prince was sure. He had slept well and felt refreshed. But then, suddenly, the door was roughly opened as a page entered the chamber with a great amount of noise. The servant had always been loud and rather clumsy, not quite a good servant to be honest. "Breakfast, sire!" the lad announced loudly, setting down an overfilled tray on the table. Then he saw the Prince as if for the first time, and exclaimed: "You're dressed!"_

"_Yes. I sometimes wonder if you were dropped on your head when you were young, or if you simply were born that way," responds the prince sarcastically, ignoring the hurt look on the servant's face._

"_I wasn't_

Wait. This is getting off track. Off off off track. This is meant to turn _dark_. Not some silly prelude to a comic relief, for Mahal's sake!

He stares at the freshest line, as if the words would somehow turn on themselves and create proper sentences. But they don't. They remain unmoving.

(Backspace, backspace, backspace.)

…

What he needs, he realizes, is for someone to be there all through this story and give him some feedback. Criticism and encouragement. There's something lacking to this story. It can't quite get started. He has a few drafts stored away of fragmented chapters – he has the middle part quite ready to be honest, the main body has been forged; but it's the bloody start of the thing that has him tied into knots.

Most of the time, Gimli has contented with publishing stories without having someone else beta-reading them first; it'd just be so much trouble, when he has s few readers. But before even coming very far into this story, he knows he _needs_ it to be written and he needs it to be _good_.

Opening a new tab, he launches into a frantic search for forums and LJ communities. Surely he'd leave a shout-out somewhere and find someone interested; this fandom is more well-known after all, as is the pairing. But then he hesitates. Would there be a beta willing to take on this kind of project? He hasn't gotten far, but common sense tells him that it'll probably be a word monster. It'll be a monthly-long project and he wants the same beta throughout the process for constancy's sake. Would anyone even _want_ to agree beta reading a piece that's not even past the 50% mark?

In the end, he leaves a note, shortly explaining the nature of his story-to-be and his dire need of a beta; and that he just needs someone to generally look over his work, give pointers on the plot and characterizations rather than just grammar. If they could help him fix the first chapter, the rest might just come along after that. Maybe he could get at least _one_ reply.


	3. Part 2

**PART 2**

When scouring his favourite forums – well, one of his favourites, for he has many (but F.I.G.W.I.T. Prompt Exchange tops the list by far) – he finds it. A small note at the bottom; it doesn't have a single reply. Legolas hasn't seen this name on the forum before though.

* * *

_SA 2013-01-04 10:01 pm (UTC)  
Power_of_Axes_

_**Beta reader wanted **__**for 'There And Back Again' story**_

_Seeking beta reader for LONG AU fic, not quite started yet. I will publish everything once completed, credited correctly of course. Summary found below and more details. It will be quite dark and take unexpected twists, and therefore the plot itself is quite heavy. I will need a beta willing to hang on for the whole ride, one who doesn't give up after five chapters. If interested please contact me either by leaving a message here in this thread or over __here__ at my tumblr._

_/Power_of_Axes_

_(Show more...__ )_

_Edited at 2013-01-04 10:34 pm (UTC)  
(__Reply__)(__Thread__)_

* * *

It seems kind of interesting. And he's not beta read for some time. So he clicks _Show more_ and skims through the details; the summary gains his attention, but it's the pairing which catches his interest. Actually there are two pairings listed and it's the second, almost only hinted at, that makes the whole thing a lot more interesting. It's quite rare.

A quick search soon guides him to the AO3 profile of Power_of_Axes. They don't seem to have written a great amount of stories; not many readers, nor bookmarks. The Elf browses the page; some titles are attached to fandoms he's only heard of but not engaged in, but others are very familiar.

In fact, he remembers reading one particular story by this author just earlier this month. It'd been quite good – maybe it needed some polishing up, but the plot had been fresh and original, and caused him to laugh and get annoyed at the characters' obliviousness and cry once he hit the bittersweet end; he'd been vividly moved by that story.

He'd left a comment, at least he thinks he did, though he isn't sure under which pseudonym: he hadn't cared at that moment, because he'd been so touched by the story he just needed to vent out his immediate reaction.

Hm, maybe. And it'd help put his mind off the fact his father _once_ _again_ has grounded him – no matter how many times he'd apologized for going out with the twin the whole night two days ago, Thranduil had refused to relent. At least, Legolas reflects, it's not as bad as that one time he invited over Aragorn and they attempted to raid his father's wine cellar.

He clicks the link.

The thread remains irksomely empty for the next few days. Then, the young Dwarf opens his email one Monday morning before heading off for his college classes to find one new tumblr message.

Somewhat surprised, he opens it. Honestly, he hadn't expected any reaction for _weeks,_ as with most of his posts.

* * *

_Hi there!_

_I noticed you're in need of a beta reader. I have beta'ed for this fandom before – on and off for some three years now - and the summary sounds quite interesting. I would be glad to help. Just send me a message with more details._

_My strengths lie in grammar and punctuation; nevertheless I may also look at the flow and consistency of the story if you would like me to. I am quite frank and will be honest with you; if I find something to be crap, I will tell you so._

_The fic isn't completed yet I gather? I'm willing to take on the challenge if it turns out to be interesting enough. Have you planned it out, though? Or do you need help tying up loose ends?_

_Curious to learn more,_

_greenleaf_

* * *

greenleaf? Never heard of the name, but the offer is kind and Gimli clicks the link.

Most of greenleaf's dashboard is filled with various memes – and _lots_ of snarky and/or sarcastic comments regarding them – and pictures of kittens, supposedly cute. Gimli mainly finds them hairy albeit there's something about large, innocent eyes … anyway, he's not here to stare at kittens. There are also quite a few obviously shipper reblogs and then pictures of colourful shoes and very weird clothes, probably of some Elf-brand that Gimli's not heard of.

The profile description under the name makes the Dwarf think ofsome hair-dyed vegetarian with a particular love for indie pop music (not quite the power metal the Dwarf prefers). It also proudly states that greenleaf is a slash shipper (there's a list of OTPs and OT3s; a list including, to Gimli's delight, both Johnlock and Merthur) and that he owns a cat named Estel and that he likes playing Xbox and practices archery. The profile icon depicts the early mentioned cat (or at least Gimli supposes it is): a dark, rather wildly-furred, thing, with quite prominent ears. There are no references to greenleaf's age or race. Probably Mannish though.

There's a link to an AO3 profile as well, which upon inspection proves that they are quite much like him writing-wise. Not many published stories and they have both few hits and not many words; all he can see have less than 10,000 words. Most is written in Common, but there's a poem or two in Elfish, or it could be Rohirric (he isn't sure which); neither of which Gimli does not speak or is interested in. It could however mean that greenleaf isn't _entirely_ stupid, despite their music preferences.

He skims the one at the top of the dash through, _Eve Never Long_. It's a one-shot. Plain; but at the same time the use of language is oddly melodic, like you could sing the text though it's not even written in verse. And it's very, _very_ well-written. Actually, once he's finished, Gimli can't help but wonder what on earth such a beautiful story is doing with only two meek comments. There should be a dozen more at least, especially considering the publication date (over a year ago).

All right, so it's not _really _what he's had in mind. But they seem to be a good writer, and that's got to mean something. So he goes back to the message and replies:

_Hello, greenleaf!_

_Thank you for your offer. I could send you the first chapter, if you'd like to have a look at it._

_Note that it's not completed by a long shot though. It's the start I'm having problems with; the middle chapters are more or less finished and I have the ending quite clear in my mind. What I need most is some input on the plot and characterization._

_Eagerly awaiting your response,_

_Power_of_Axes_

* * *

Classes are, as expected, quite boring. While he has never been very fond of geography, math is quite interesting as are foreign languages – well, parting Elfish perhaps, for it makes little sense – but neither takes place on Mondays.

The college of Erebor is relatively small, compared to the more famous Gondor High, and mainly Dwarves attend here. The occasional Man or Hobbit may be found though. Gimli has noticed that Fíli and Kíli particularly seem to like hanging out with the small group of Halflings attending; their company is quite pleasant actually; they are nowhere as strange as Elves.

No Elves attend the college of Erebor. There is this posh place in the west that most of them in the area go to, called Imladris High or something other.

"So," says Thorin – a sort-of-friend of Gimli's - when the copper-haired Dwarf takes his usual seat behind him.

He's the son of a very important Dwarf in the area: none other than Thráin, son of Thrór, who is the President of the Lonely Mountain Gems Inc., Middle Earth's largest producer of artificial diamonds.

As one can then foresee, Thorin is _very_ rich; he has people of both genders and several races seeking his company. He owns his own car, a house with a tremendous view over Erebor and he can point at practically _anything_ and own it within five minutes; not to mention he's quite good looking. His eyes are deep and serious. A set of glittering stones are attached to his black braided beard almost every day. Even Elves ought to be impressed by that! But, Gimli isn't blinded by Thorin's impressive and supposedly majestic heritage. They went to kindergarten together after all.

"What have you been up to?" the dark-haired Dwarf asks. "I can't seem to get into touch with you."

"Nothing really," he answers. Maybe Thorin tried calling him this weekend and he filtered the call away along with all those of Kíli's, which he'd ignored. "The usual."

While not as much of a 'fanatic' as himself, Thorin also is an avid tumblr blogger and has at enough followers to compete with even LadyGoldenWoods. (Even those who don't know about tumblr know of _that_ name. There was some interview with her a year or so ago, in a famous fashion magazine due to her 'perfect' sense for fashion. Gimli hadn't really engaged in the topic but everyone was abuzz about the matter.) He's reblogged practically everything concerning the first movie release of There And Back Again.

And when Thorin had tried writing a one-shot (silly and badly written with enough grammatical mistakes to make Gimli want to tear off his beard) he'd received far too many praises and reblogs to count (72 comments the first day it was online. No, he didn't check this up! Umm … well. Fair enough, he_ might _have spent that particular evening with a tab with KingUndertheMountain2746 constantly open. Just out of curiousity though!)

All right. So Gimli might be _somewhat_ jealous. Slightly.

A _little_ bit.

Anyway, Thorin has no idea (or memory of) that Power_of_Axes is one of his 4000+ followers, a fact which Gimli is content with.

"Hm," grunts Dwalin, who is often part of Thorin's team which also is known as the Company. They have this group to which Gimli vividly tried to become a part of a couple of years back but once he was accepted, well, it didn't matter that much anymore. "Well, doesn't surprise me. You're always kind of out of it."

"I'm not _out of it_," Gimli defends himself, arms crossing. "My leisure pursuit simply surpasses yours."

"Ha, ha." Dwalin's guttural voice is dry. "Your humour utterly astonishes me."

Any further conversation is cut off as the teacher arrives. Gimli turns away from his desk-mate and opens his books. But he can't focus and when half-way through the lesson he glances at the diagram which has been drawn on the board, it makes no sense whatsoever. The teacher says something and everyone falls quiet.

From his seat right behind him, Nori nudges him with his foot. He startles. "Gimli! Mrs Goldberry asked you a question."

"Hm?"

The teacher repeats, her usually sweet tender voice growing strained; but Gimli just stares for a moment, the words mulled and not reaching his ears. Everyone waits silently.

"The answer is, um – pi squared times two?" he guesses wildly. The doodles and small words in his notebook gives him no clue to what the answer might be, or even the question; he guesses the teacher won't appreciate hearing _'Prince+halfling ch. 12(?), desperate!sex in dungeon'._

"Um, Gimli," murmurs Nori then. "We're in Geography. You know that, right?"

* * *

_Hi, Power_of_Axes_

_I'd be very interested! Please go ahead. I'd prefer you attach your chapter as a .doc file. My email is __underthetrees at ardamail . com__. Make sure to title it 'Beta: Fanfiction' or something along those lines, or the message may accidentally end up among the junk mail._

_Salutes,_

_greenleaf_

* * *

Now pressed with a deadline - having to actually _finish_ the chapter to be able to send it - is something quite refreshing, despite being also stressful, and he manages to type out the first chapter at a rate which takes him by surprise. It does involve quite a lot of retypes and cursing and pulling at his beard, but he makes it, at long last. He does not usually set deadlines to his stories, since they aren't typically this long; five to six chapters at most.

And by the end of the week, it's finished. Well, sort of. It's rough, it's a draft, but it's ready to send.

He's a bit on edge about having really a complete stranger read through something so frustratingly incomplete – it makes him feel oddly bare, as if he'd have nothing to hide. Should he really do this?

It's not too late to back away.

But – oh, c'mon! He's a Dwarf, not some flighty fairy. He can't possibly back down!

* * *

To: underthetrees at ardamail . com  
From: G. G. Axes at ardamail . com  
SA 2013-01-23 21:10:03

**Beta help, 1st chapter**

_Hello, greenleaf!_

_Here you have chapter one. Finally written! However it is still a draft, mind. There is no hurry, so you needn't stress. Please take your time with beta'ing, and good luck - and thank you beforehand,_

_Power_of_Axes_

* * *

As it turns out, greenleaf is a swift worker. Already after three or so hours, a message drops into his inbox and Gimli finds an attached .doc file. Slightly unsure of what to anticipate, he opens it.

And he's greeted by red.

A _lot_ of red.

_Morning climbed over the hills and settled in the valley below. Its light made the white stone walls of the buildings appear pearly and white. _Again? We've already made it clear that the walls are white. Sometimes a simple explanation can do it: but there are other adjectives as well do describe the state of the sun on the wall, if you so insist. _The city, carved into the mountain itself, was already awake, servants scurrying from one corridor to another, busy with work. The sky was clear and it was quite warm for a spring day._

_Sunlight_ More light! You need a different approach or people will get bored. _fell upon the stone __gates__, tall and proud as they reflected the wealth of the city. Upon each side of the __gates_ (repetition) _stood a large statue; cut out of the bare rock, finely chiselled down to the last detail by generations of Dwarves, as a testament over their power, their knowledge and their ultimate kingdom._

_They were wide open, as spring had come thawing away the cold snow of winter and soon, traders would come flooding with goods from far and wide to the famous market of Dale._

_All was calm. If a storm was coming, none were aware. None knew of the darkness which already was sweeping closer to the vale, step by step. None had heard its warning, chill wind coming from the north. No bells tolled. Not yet._

_It was going to be a good day; of this the young Dwarf Prince was sure. He had slept well and felt refreshed. But then, suddenly, the door was roughly opened as a page entered the chamber with a great amount of noise. The servant had always been loud and rather clumsy, not quite a good servant to be honest. (_Insert new paragraph here? It would make sense with the flow.)_ "Breakfast, sire!" the lad _For my part I find it unlikely that the prince would address the servant as 'lad', and since this is from his point of view, I think simply 'boy' would suffice._announced loudly, setting down an overfilled tray on the table. Then he saw the Prince as if for the first time, and exclaimed: "You're dressed!"_

"_Yes. I sometimes wonder if you were dropped on your head when you were young, or if you simply were born that way," responds the prince sarcastically._ I find the sarcasm very out of character. The Prince is cold toward everyone, subjects and family at first (doesn't start loosening up until meeting the Halfling in canon, remember? The Prince would just grunt at the servant, or ignore him at first; he's still not evolved as a character!, _ignoring the hurt look on the servant's face._

This goes on for the next seven-eight pages. Gimli finds his pulse speeding up with not just a little annoyance as he reads on, reluctantly so. A growing part of him just wants to shut laptop and throw it out of the window.

None of his other betas had ever been this … this _exact _in their taking apart of his texts. Nor this unforgiving. Were his heart less stout he'd probably start sobbing soon and become a total wreck and seek out the fridge. But he doesn't.

Because he's a Dwarf, and a very proud Dwarf at that; he shall endure.

Even if it HURTS.

By the end of the last paragraph, there is a comment added (also in red, bright and vicious):

* * *

First off, your idea of the light-turning-dark plot works very well, but the dialogue in the start seems a bit off. What is its purpose? It doesn't seem to add any suspense, merely confusion.

It seems that your writing style is somewhat jumbled. If you begin with detailed descriptions involving many adjectives, it's best you keep to the same writing manner throughout.

After about two pages this smoothens out, I see; that's good. Try sticking with that same tone all the way through the story.

The characterization improves greatly a few pages into the story. But you'd better go back and see over their actions and reactions from the start. And it's too early for the Prince to start changing yet!

There are no major flaws grammar-wise. You may notice I have marked and copied a few sentences, and then tweaked within a parenthesis (page 3: line 2 and 10). Those aren't many greatly important changes, but I think it could affect the story in a positive way. However, you are the writer and thus the boss.

* * *

Right, greenleaf _had_ said he would be frank and honest, but still, this outright _crazy_ amount of red-marked comments stings quite badly and Gimli, stabbing viciously at the keyboard, opens their email thread starting to type in a rather angry message when it strikes him.

This is what a beta does. They are _meant_ to pick your story apart, despite your constant struggle, tooth and nail; then sew it back up half-way and hand back the needle and thread. And greenleaf _did_ say that "if I find something to be crap, I will tell you so."

Still, there's no need for greenleaf to be so bloody harsh! Gimli can think of a thing or two to say to them in the reply to. But, he takes a deep breath to quench the anger, before turning back to the Word document. He wants to finish this story, doesn't he? Then, he needs his beta's help. Simple as that.

* * *

Most importantly you must decide early on from which point of view you are telling this story. Now you seem a bit unsure. Are we going to see this merely from one character's POV or are you going to switch between multiple ones? Decide straight off; otherwise you will only confuse your readers.

Otherwise, great job! I'm really interested in the development. Somehow, I got a feeling that the ending won't be what a reader would predict at this stage. Suspense! Love it!

- greenleaf

* * *

In the end, once he's looked through the document, cleaned it up and thoughtfully made the corrections that greenleaf suggested, it _does_ look better, however reluctant as he may be to admit it.

Darn.

Is it an Elf?

Gimli finds himself clicking his way to greenleaf's tumblr, once again skimming over the dashboard. Not only are they insanely fast at beta reading, they've updated their dash a thousand times over in the last hour as well. Loads more pictures of kittens and knitting patterns and very red (alternatively bright blue or green) painted fingernails.

Again, everything is annoyingly vague. They could be Mannish. Some 17 year old girl or guy – but then again, the Mannish folk have always been weird about painted fingernails vs. gender (many tend to stare at any female Dwarves passing by as if unable to comprehend their glorious beards. Honestly! Men!), so this is most likely a girl.

Oh.

_Darn_.

He's being corrected by a Mannish girl who likes _kittens_. By Aulë, how could they be doing such a good job with a tumblr such as _that_?


	4. Part 3

**PART 3**

To: underthetrees at_ardamail . com  
From: G. G. Axes at ardamail . com  
SA 2013-01-22 20:01:01

**Subject: Re: re: Beta, 1st chapter**

_Greetings greenleaf,_

_I got the document you sent me; it was a swift job indeed! You're __**very**__ forthright, I must say. So much red! It's rather startling, to be honest. I hadn't thought it was _that_ dreadful._

_/Power_of_Axes_

* * *

He's on the phone again. A business call, probably – that's usually when he frowns that much; and he isn't pacing. Normally when speaking about private matters he does, as if his voice isn't enough a let-out of energy.

Legolas can't really remember ever seeing his father smiling when on the phone. He's always rather impersonal then. Distant. Cold.

He bites his lip, trying to quench the impatience boiling inside of him. But his father has been on the phone for the last hour and only exchanged a swift greeting since he got home from work today – late, as per usual – and looked disapproving at the Haradrim takeaway which Legolas had ordered as dinner. But nothing else. No small talk. No inquiring of how the day's been or even the weather. No warm hugs or. Or anything like that. Just …

The young Elf stands on the threshold, utterly still like a hunter on alert. The moment his father lowers the phone from his ear, he pounces.

"Adar, could I come with you to town tomorrow? Aragorn wants to meet at –"

Thranduil sighs. "My schedule is far too busy to drive you around."

"I could take a taxi from your office. _Please_, ada."

The older Elf looks at him sternly, and Legolas quietly crosses his fingers, _hoping_ …

"Fine. But you must get back to my office on your own."

_Yes!_

"I will, don't worry."

As soon as he's able, he rushes for his cell-phone and sends a text to Aragorn. Hopefully the twins can meet with them too, and Haldir maybe. And he could forget about his father's annoyance and stress for a while and unwind, even if his ada would be so mad when he comes back late, missing the drive home and leaving no excuses. But his ada doesn't leave excuses when _he_ returns late – why should he owe him those, then, all the time?

* * *

To: G. G. Axes at ardamail . com  
From: underthetrees at ardamail . com  
SA 2013-01-24 09:22:25

**Subject: Re: re: re: Beta, 1st chapter**

_Greetings Power_of_Axes,_

_I did say I would be candid. If it displeases you, I could easily quit. There is more than one beta out there, and there may be someone more suited to your tastes. But I believe your story must be given a chance to be truly up to par. In core it's really good; it just needs some polishing up._

_/greenleaf_

* * *

The sudden bluntness of the message actually makes him stagger. Then, a smirk spreads across his face. He isn't going to let the beta quit on him this fast! Mayhap they are a sensitive person, or just don't like being criticised. Either way it's ironic that they are such an effective beta reader.

Feeling more energetic or effective than he has been for months, Gimli dives into writing in frenzy, feeling more passionate about it than he has for a very long time; the words are spewed out of his fingertips.

He's going to finish this.

* * *

To: underthetrees at ardamail . com  
From: G. G. Axes at ardamail . com  
SA 2013-01-25 21:10:03

**Subject: Re: re: re: Beta – 2nd chapter (.doc attached)**

_Hello greenleaf,_

_You needn't quit! Actually, I find your snarkiness quite amusing._

_Don't chew this one apart, will you? And you need not to lecture me on the simple use of punctuation. But mere Mortals do make mistakes._

_/Axes have all the power_

_PS. Yes; I am aware that snarkiness is not a word found in any of the dictionaries today or any day in the past, but it applies to you fine. DS._

* * *

Legolas can't help but grin when reading the last line. There's just something about this person that makes them likeable and he doesn't take offence, though if a total stranger told him that he ought to feel some kind of sting at least…!

* * *

To: G. G. Axes at ardamail . com  
From: underthetrees at ardamail . com  
SA 2013-01-27 04:02:11

**Subject: Re: re: re: re: Beta – 2nd chapter**

_Hello Axes_of_Power,_

_I am glad to hear it. Honestly, it is at this point most writers quit on_ me_, thinking I'm being too blunt in my analysis, and they take offense. I'm sorry if you've done likewise. I did wonder if I had gone too far, but you also said you were quite unsure, especially about the beginning of the story; thus I went all-in, hoping to help you improve as much as possible._

_Just skimming through your second chapter I can see that you have already amended some common blunders. No punctuation errors for one!_

_Good luck with your writing,_

_Greenleaf_

_PS. I quite resent that remark. You make no sense. DS._

_PPS. What is it with you and axes? I don't want to jump to conclusions, but you seem fond of them in excess, which heavily implies that you must be a Dwarf. DDS._

* * *

To: underthetrees at ardamail . com  
From: G. G. Axes at ardamail . com  
SA 2013-01-28 18:43:21

**Subject: Re: re: re: re: re: Beta – 2nd chapter**

_Greetings Greenleaf,_

_I see. Well, I'm glad you've decided to stick with me too. To be honest, I haven't really bothered with a beta reader before, not to this extent._

_But I understand why people may have thought you to be too on. But it's what you're meant to do, right? Ignore us poor writers' screams as you tear our work apart._

_Anyway, I'm sending you chapter 3 and 4 in a package shortly. YES, I've finished them both. My effectiveness astonishes even me._

_Yours sincerely,_

_A Very Proud Axe-Owner_

_PS. You know very well what I mean! Also, do not question my punctuality. DS._

_PPS. Aren't you aware of that it is rude to draw such early conclusions? I may be of the Mannish race, or even an Elf – what does it matter what interests I have? I'll have you know, I own quite a collection of axes. And I know how to use them! DDS._

* * *

"Gimli! Breakfast!"

With a groan he rolls over, opening his eyes a crack to blearily glare at the bedside alarm. 07:42. Already! Muffling a yawn he grabs the nearest pillow and covers his head with it. It's too bright and early. Five more minutes. Just five minutes.

"Gimli!" his father's voice comes again, more aggravated this time, bouncing up the stairs like a hammer. "You're going to be late!"

Right, it's Monday. Ugh. Wasn't today that test? He's completely forgotten it until now. Well, not that not much studying would have taken place anyhow; he has been far too preoccupied this weekend, writing and keeping up with his beta reader's ridiculous conversations. Quickly their emails had escalated and Gimli can't recall ever using that many _post scriptum_-notes when talking with anybody, even less a person he's never met. It seems Greenleaf is quite good at multi-tasking. Which is rather amusing and also a bit annoying because they keep being so smug about their effectiveness, whereas Gimli is starting to realize that he needs more sleep.

"Gimli!"

Maybe he should call in sick. Pretend to have gotten down with the flue. Yeah. Thorin – no, Dwalin maybe, could take some notes for him, if necessary. Just for a day.

Footsteps thunder up to his door and suddenly his room is flooded with even more light. His father tugs off the pillow from his head. "Da!" Gimli cries. "Just five minutes."

"You've had your five minutes. Now, up you go."

* * *

To: G. G. Axes at ardamail . com  
From: underthetrees at ardamail . com  
SA 2013-02-01 21:00:09

**Subject: [beta] New thread because the other one got too cluttered**

_Dear "Proud Owner of Many Axes,"_

_Glad to hear your writing goes so well! I shall keep my marker at the ready. (At least figuratively speaking.) However, I worry for your safety. I mean, with all those axes. Don't fall on them. It would hurt (you)._

_Yours sincerely,_

_Greenleaf_

_PS. I hereby pronounce your middle name to be Wart, as in Stalwart if you hadn't already figured. DS._

_PPS. The axe can never beat the power of the bow! I take archery and sparring lessons in my spare time, besides writing of course. How about you? (_ _Note that I may be asking this question merely to find out if it would be fair to ask for a sparring match if we ever met.) Also – an Elf? Hardly! I've __never__ met an Elf who likes axes, in any manner or form. And your wording does not fit with that of an Elf either. It seems exceedingly implausible. DDS._

* * *

To: underthetrees at ardamail . com  
From: G. G. Axes at ardamail . com  
SA 2013-02-06 17:18:19

**Subject: Re:** **[beta] New thread because the other one got too cluttered**

_Greetings Greenleaf,_

_Just saying that the next few chapters (6-10 – yes, I do not lie! I DID IT.) will be sent to you shortly. Also I saw __this__ tumblr blog and the first thing I thought of was you – must be the cats. What is it with you cats anyway? That sort of fondness cannot be healthy._

_Yours sincerely,_

_The Unquestionable Power of Axes_

_PS. "Wart"? Heavens, even my cousins could come up with something more original than that, and that's saying something! DS._

_PPS. Have you never seen __these__ twitter updates by __CelebRimboR_Forgerer1__? (#narvi #doorsofmoria) They quite crush your theory, Greenleaf. DDS._

* * *

Then suddenly, one day, the chain of messages are broken by an outsider, an oddity, and Gimli has to double-check who the sender is – already he's so unused to receiving anything from anybody else than Greenleaf. It's been days, no, weeks now. And already it feels completely natural to expect if not an update on progress then at least a snarky comment in his inbox every morning. But it's not an update or snarky comment or a link to a picture of kittens.

* * *

To: G. G. Axes at ardamail . com  
From: dw. alin. the. master at ardamail . com  
SA 2013-02-10 20:19:59

**Subject: Request from the Mountain King**

_Greetings Brother-in-Arms,_

_Upon Thorin's request, I am sending this message to you. Apparently as the Company's Official Researcher it falls to your hands to find some information on Hobbiton and someone named Biggens or Baggins, or something similar._

_Do not ask me how, when or who and especially not WHY. Thorin's requests cannot be questioned._

_Yours Sincerely,_

_The Master Dwarf_

Dwalin? Upon Thorin's request? Sounds _exceedingly_ formal.

Well, _this_ is Thorin and Dwalin; they're both sporadic in their contacts with him, the former even more than the latter. Dwalin along with Fíli and Kíli make, together with Thorin, more or less the core of the Company.

And Gimli remembers being mighty annoyed with them as he had, year after year, tried becoming part of them. It had taken five years – five! As if he's some immature kid, not old enough to join! They're bloody persistent. At least Thorin is. And still they're all quite secretive even if he is part of the Company now. Then again, they socially work on another plane than himself.

Hobbiton though? Sounds definitely Hobbitish – how typical they'd ask _him_ to find out such obvious information! Since when is Thorin interested in Halflings anyway?

A quick search tells him it's a town in the western region of the county Shire. A Hobbit town – _obviously_. Then this other name, well, frankly Gimli doesn't care that much, too preoccupied in this moment. He texts Thorin the link to Ardawiki. Because honestly, he has better things to do in his spare time. ('Official Researcher', indeed!)

* * *

To: dw. alin. the. master at ardamail . com  
From: G. G. Axes at ardamail . com  
SA 2013-02-10 23:45:03

**Subject: Re: Request from the Mountain King**

_Greetings Master Dwalin,_

_I'll look into it. When I find the time. Which isn't often, for I am a busy Dwarf. Anyway, I shall try, as is my duty to the Company._

_On the matter of Hobbiton, I've never heard of the place. I'll see what I can do but you may tell Thorin there is something called __Ardawiki__. You know, that one with a "search" function._

_Cheers,_

_Gimli_

_PS. Tell Thorin to check his messages. There is meant to be a link. Very straightforward; it's impossible to get lost. DS._

* * *

Now, he'd better return to the fic. Where was he? Yeah…

_Many days and many nights had passed since then. But they still remembered it all too vividly._

_The sky was dark and hovering over them, compact and with few stars, much like a cavern wall far beyond the reach of hands of Mortals. Torch in hand, they slowly approached the doorway. From far within, a slight gleaming light reached them ..._

* * *

"You can't!" Legolas splutters. "Ada!"

His father arches an eyebrow. Anyone not used to the expression on his face might have been terrified, but Legolas has seen that look many times and counters it with a sharp glare, holding it steadfast. "It is clear to me you are forsaking more important duties such as schoolwork. You'll have it back in four weeks, ion."

"Four _weeks_?!"

And there is no internet cafés anywhere nearby either … not that he could easily get into the town of Mithlond from this far out into the middle of nowhere, anyway. And everything he's writing and betaing is on that computer! His father can't just take it away without warning!

"Ada, I apologized for the accident – I did, and I'm sorry, I shouldn't have snuck out with the twins. But please – we did nothing illegal or dangerous or anything! Ada -"

"See, you are far too attached to that thing. Do not make that face at me! If you work hard and well you _might_ get it back earlier than planned."

Might. _Might_. That's not even the shadow of a promise, and Legolas grimaces, fighting all urges to throw an outright tantrum – he can act much worse than this. He can. But he shouldn't. His ada is right; if he gets madder, his ada will get angrier as well and the consequences worse and more far-fetching. He's not been grounded _yet_, for one, nor forbidden from visiting the twins or any other of his friends.

Slowly breathing out, in, out, he steps back but his shoulders remain tense. If he works hard, his ada said – but he always tries to work hard!

Umm, maybe not _that_ hard with history or maths … but surely his ada could understand that! He's not the worst of the worst. He's not out late every night and he doesn't torment his tutors (too badly).

He hadn't meant to sneak out. Truly, he hadn't. It wasn't planned. But he was just so bored and the walls were creeping closer, ever the closer around him, trapping him like a bird in a cage, and the twins' offer was far too tempting to resist. Why could his father realize this? Why couldn't he _understand?_

"Legolas," his ada continues and Legolas' sharp eyes follow the trail of the elder Elf's hand, as it lays the laptop in the safe, underneath a pile of important papers, and the lid is closed and the lock turned. The key hidden in a drawer of Thranduil's desk, where only the very daring Elladan and Elrohir would dare to pry around – but the Wood-Elf isn't that stupid. "Just work well and hard."

_Like me,_ is the echo. Legolas hates that. He bets his father has never heard of the word 'relax'. Or 'early' in the sentence _coming back early_.

But he bites his lip and sighs and says, "Yes, adar."

It's just for four weeks; the blink of an eye for an Elf. And he's got his notebooks and a good memory, and if all goes to hell, he could probably call Aragorn and plead for him to pass by with his newly-bought but already run-down Narsil and pick him up; and they'd go to town and hide for a few days while his father lets off steam in private.

"And your phone."

Great. _Juuust_ great.

* * *

The silence is quenching. Like drowning in a bucket of icy cold water.

Gimli distracts himself with homework and friends and cousins, but still, he can't ignore it. There's not a single word. Has Greenleaf found some extremely horrible flaw in the fic that they've suddenly decided to quit, without a word?

That just doesn't seem right.

* * *

Estel curls up in his lap and Legolas gently pats his beloved cat's back, weaving his fingers through the thick soft fur. Estel gives off a content purr of satisfaction. At least he's still got him. Probably it is because the cleaning maid is so effective his father doesn't realize how much hairs end up everywhere.

He ends up spending all night on the phone – the regular one with a chord - with Arwen, locked in his room (the chord didn't like the closed door), helplessly whining about his situation when, really, he's behaving pathetically and he really wishes he could just stop sounding like a five year old that's been dragged away from a candy store. But it feels kind of good though. And Arwen listens well and sends hugs and comforts him a little (even if she also mentions Aragorn every five minutes).

"Listen," she says, "everything'll sort out. I'll have ada talk with him." At which, naturally, Legolas protests; he's not a child anymore and to have Elrond pleading for his case (well maybe not exactly _pleading_…) is just too embarrassing a thought.

Briefly he wonders if his father's noticed. His emails. Something else like that, giving away his frequent new contact with Wart. Has he left the laptop open and unguarded sometime? He's pretty sure he hasn't, but his ada could have found a way. Is that is? Does he disapprove and instead of just saying so…?

Has he found out what he's writing?

Legolas goes cold at the thought. If Thranduil sees what exactly his son is writing and reading with such fervour, he's going to have a fit. He'll go_berserk_. Because it might imply far too much about things that Legolas rather wouldn't talk with him about, at least not until he's moved out of the house; it would just be too awkward, if his father doesn't…doesn't accept it.

"Hey, Legolas, are you listening? You're spacing out on me," the soft female suddenly startles him back to awareness.

"Yes, yes, I'm here."

"Look, as I said, he's being unfair but he could have a point. My brothers aren't being that very good an influence on you –"

"Hey! You're their sister!" Legolas splutters. "You, if anyone-"

"-should be immune, which I am." There's a flutter of fabric and rustle of movement, she's shifting the phone on the other end; maybe she's moving to sit on the couch so she can paint her toe-nails. She does that quite a lot. "As I said, you'd better just stay low for a while, don't get riled up, don't try sneaking out. I know, I know, it's boring as hell but you'll survive. If my brothers can survive being grounded for two weeks, then you _can_ survive being online for a month. I know it. Besides you're not grounded and you can visit me whenever you want. (Though I doubt your father will drive you anywhere.) Honestly, Legolas, it's not that big a deal, when you think about it."

He can't stop the whine escaping from his throat in time. "But my _writing_, Arwen! I'm in the middle of this huge project and I need to keep up to date!"

"Project huh? I haven't seen you post anything this year at all. You've been very inactive as of late."

They do that, check out each other's profiles sometimes and ask how things are going writing-wise. They're not exactly into the same fandoms but they like giving each other advice and support. Besides, it's one thing they truly share that none of their other friends are involved in. Neither the twins nor Aragorn write fiction – the former are probably too busy trying to 'devilize' their younger foster brother for that, a thing which amuses everyone except Elrond. And maybe Arwen, though Legolas has always thought she likes the 'rough, tough, save the world' kind of Men.

"It's, um, I'm just beta-reading something," he says. In his lap, Estel twists, apparently sensing its owner's rising agitation and he presses up against the Elf's chin, but the action which might have been meant as soothing only manages to make Legolas' face itch.

"Oh," Arwen says, bemusedly. "Is it _terrible,_ or just terrible?"

"Actually it's rather good. Surprisingly good even. The plot is perf–" Suddenly aware of the excitement in his voice, his face flushes in embarrassment. "It's, err, coming along nicely," he finishes lamely.

There's a mysterious hint in Arwen's tone as she answer, as if she's realizing something which he is now. "_Really_ now? You've always been so picky that people have usually no patience for you. I'm surprised you haven't been kicked out yet from this project."

"I am painfully aware of that. But I'm _not_ rude!" he adds, remembering how the previous try at beta-reading had turned out. Arwen still teases him for that.

Then she sounds dangerously alike to her father Elrond, and Legolas almost giggles at the image it causes him, but he's wise enough to keep quiet. "Indeed."

"I am _not_!"

* * *

A week passes.

And then another, and then a few days more.

In the evenings, he writes, fighting to tie together loose threads, and in the days he tires keeping up in class and not fall asleep, especially not during the ones with Professor Grey, whose courses almost no one can pass. He could probably smother delinquent students with his big beard.

Then, when nearing the three week-mark, there has been nothing but complete and utter silence from Greenleaf and Gimli starts to wonder if anything's happened. Not that he is personally worried, or anything. Just curious, that's all, given Greenleaf's earlier swiftness and constant contact.

So he scrapes together a slightly awkward message. He doesn't want to be too personal or seem worried or anything the like, they don't really know one another and he doesn't want to be a bother. Just, he's checking on a comrade-in-arms, that's all.

* * *

To: underthetrees at ardamail . com  
From: G. G. Axes at ardamail . com  
SA 2013-02-25 20:34:59

**Subject: Re:** **re**: **[beta] New thread because the other one got too cluttered**

_Greetings Leaf which is Green (really what kind of name is that?),_

_Your silence is unusual and somewhat disturbing. You haven't tripped on one of your arrows during archery practice have you? As amusing as that is to picture, I would advise against it – archery, that is. Axe-throwing and even sparring is a much better and more suitable sport._

_Wondering what's holding you up,_

_Axe-bearer_

_PS. You're clearly running out of ideas and adjectives. DS._

_PPS. More mentions, in case you haven't completely forgotten yet, with pictures, __here__. Evidence as clear as a cloudless sky! DDS._


	5. Part 4

**PART 4 **

It takes three weeks before he gets his computer back. He could have used internet cafés, were there any nearby, but he lives literarily in the middle of nowhere and without a driver's license he's mostly stuck in the mansion, fidgety and incredibly bored. He must be driving poor old butler Galion insane. Not intentionally … of course. Just, he's bored and Aragorn has only been able to drop by once to see him during these three weeks. That'd been last Wednesday, and the young Man has just been able to stay for a little while and their antics hadn't really soothed his ada.

(In retrospect, Legolas realized that going out in the woods with a scruffy Mortal and be gone for several hours only to return dragging mud into the pristine white house wasn't a very good idea.)

By then, Arwen has started nearly every one of their conversations with an invisible eye-roll and a sigh, muttering about 'boys always bitching about their miserable lives' and Legolas would have felt wounded if he didn't know her so well. Besides, he always lets her complain about Aragorn who is, in her opinion, 'kind of hot but honestly he needs a haircut ASAP'.

"Think of it as a personal record. A positive learning experience, or something," she says into the phone that night, and Legolas feels content curled up in the sofa with a hot cup resting in his hand, Estel purring in his lap and the half-finished chapter 17 on the screen in front of him. He supports the phone with his left hand as he eyes the chapter through.

"Learning experience," he answers, pausing as the mouse hovers over the sentence _And as the dwarves toiled under the hot sun, hour upon hour _– "Yeah. I've. Learnt a lot. Like how often you need to sharpen the pencil when working on paper."

"_Multi-tasking again huh?"_ Arwen remarks, noticing his slightly delayed replies. She knows him well enough to be certain. The tapping against the keyboard may give it away, though. _"You know, it kills quite a lot of brain-cells, doing that. Gives you no focus and yadda-yadda, as the scientist say."_

"Oh don't worry, I haven't got that many to lose anyway." He grins and she knows even if she can't see him, and he's sure she's smirking too.

"_Too true. So how's it going – this _project_ of yours?"_

"Really good!" Legolas says, grinning and taking a hot sip, "I'm on chapter seventeen now and really, it's not just developing into a story, it's developing into _epicness_ and-"

Arwen groans. _"Oh no, I know that tone; it's the 'I've had coffee with sugar and I'm excited so now I'm going to babble like on high the next forty-five minutes'-tone. I'm too tired for that."_

"Hey! It's only half past eight."

"_Very well; for a friend, I shall endure. __**If**__ you'll accompany me to The Ranger's tomorrow. I'll come over and fetch you, before your father can object."_

"_Ada'll be __furious__, Arwen! He'll – he'll grown horns! __**Literal**__ horns! Like balrog horns, with fire sprouting out of them!" _he cries in a (slightly) over-dramatic way. She just laughs. Alas, the power she holds over him! At least she has manners unlike her brothers. His ada actually _approves_ of his friendship with her and Thrandruil has never glared darkly at her in the same manner which he's glared at the twins.

"_We'll just make sure you're not caught then. It'll be fine; you've got me looking after you."_

Well, to be fair, it doesn't seem that fun to go with Arwen with that bar where Aragorn works part-time and watch the two cast longing glances at each other for hours, but - for a friend. Besides the two better get a leg over soon. They're incredibly dim the both of them. Legolas can't see why Arwen doesn't just grab the guy and shags him. Honestly, he's kind and good-looking (even if he does forget to wash his hair sometimes. Apparently trying to look 'scruffy like a proper walking-in-the-wild Ranger', which is ridiculous.)

"Fine, fine," he sighs. "Now let me finish this. The story's awesome! I can't wait till it's published."

"_So you can gloat even more,"_ Arwen concludes with a chuckle.

* * *

To: G. G. Axes at ardamail . com  
From: underthetrees at ardamail . com  
SA 2013-02-29 02:19:24

**Subject: Re: re: re:** **[beta] New thread because the other one got too cluttered**

_Dear Wart,_

_I am working on the chapters you sent me earlier, in case you fear I'm growing indolent. The absence hasn't been _that_ long. There was, well, an accident which caused some implications and I had no access to reach you or beta for some time. But hopefully no such interruption should happen again (at least for some time…)._

_And no, I haven't tripped on my arrows! What kind of idiot would even do such a thing?_

_Hugs,_

_Greenleaf_

_PS. Then you have never met The Twins of Doom. DS._

_PPS. That hardly counts. _Everyone_ knows that they've been BFFs all since that that incident at the Moria convent back in 2002! DDS._

* * *

The first time he adds the _post scriptum_-note, he hesitates only for a millisecond. Then he thinks:_ Oh, why-ever not?_ Wart, aka Power_of_Axes, seems to be good-humoured.

He doesn't take ill. In fact, it quickly moves on from PS:s to PPS:s and even the occasional PPPS, quite often with some sarcastic remark or off-topic link (Legolas takes a particular liking to linking to pictures of kittens, much to the writer's disgruntlement. But he'll convert Wart yet.)

From that point on, their communication swiftly starts rolling. It's the most amusing contact with an author he's had as a beta. Some had been so whiny and bratty, which no amount of patience could uphold; others just plainly agreed with everything he did without argument and that made work quite dreary in the end: but Wart scrutinizes his work just as closely as he does his own. If there's anything he doesn't agree with, he says it at once, and they can keep arguing about it for days, rapidly filling up one email thread after the other. And then they talk about other random, unrelated things too,

It's kind of nice. Comforting. Wart isn't just some writer in the same fandom as he. They're a _friend_.

And sure, he's very close to Arwen, certainly, and to Aragorn and the twins and even Haldir (on his better days), but they don't hang out so much without him and their emails are never these amusing and _engaging_. That they go to Imladris High and talk about people he hasn't heard of doesn't really help – the twins are on the local soccer team and Haldir doesn't share his interests or taste in music. Arwen's conversations are warm and soothing and he values them dearly but, but – this new person …

Is it normal to feel this way? Maybe it is. But it's odd. He's talking online before and met people both good and bad there. Something about Wart just … draws him in.

And his friends don't watch the shows that he does or can discuss books with the same fervour. They might watch an episode of Doctor Who with him if he kindly asks, but they wouldn't enjoy a marathon. They'd not share these lengthy discussions about worm-hole theories and silly subplots and odd pairings like he does with Wart. In these few weeks he's grown closer to the axe-loving writer than anyone, save perhaps Arwen, but still it's not quite the same.

It's also kind of frightening, knowing that – because, by the Valar, he doesn't even know their real _name_!

* * *

To: underthetrees at ardamail . com  
From: G. G. Axes at ardamail . com  
SA 2013-02-29 02:19:24

**Subject: Re: re: re: re** **[beta] New thread because the other one got too cluttered**

_Ah, so you are alive, Greenleaf!_

_I am quite relieved. Recruiting a new beta would have been an exasperating process. Anyhow, in your absence I have been working my backside off and thus here you have a whole zip file attached, with junk which I now shall dump upon you. Have fun with that!_

_Cheers,_

_I AM NOT A WART. Your ideas, endearing as they may seem, are quite ridiculous._

_PS. They do sound quite ominous, those twins. I believe it would be in both of our best interest in never letting them meet my cousins; I'm sure you agree. DS._

* * *

To: G. G. Axes at ardamail . com  
From: underthetrees at ardamail . com  
SA 2013-03-02 15:22:01

**Subject: Re: re: re More clutter. Because I want to, OK?**

_Hello Wart,_

_Does writing proceed as it should? (Yes, that is a stern look being sent your way.) Just checking!_

_I'm having a look at the latest chapters you've sent me as soon as I get the time. They're quite a pile, however I wouldn't say they're junk!_

Legolas pauses. Hesitating just a little. They've never really spilled that much about their private lives before. Still…what harm could it possibly do?

_Since graduation is this year I am finding myself rather held up by numerous essays and other works to finish. How is everything going on your end of the line?_

_Hugs,_

_Greenleaf_

_PS. Your signature grows inaner by each passing day. Are you quite aware of this? DS._

* * *

To: underthetrees at ardamail . com  
From: G. G. Axes at ardamail . com  
SA 2013-03-02 22:34:01

**Subject: Re: re: re: re: More clutter. Because I want to, OK?**

_Greetings, Greenleaf!_

_You attend your 13__th__ year as well then, huh? Yeah, the schedule is growing more and more cluttered. However I am dividing my time rather well between studying and writing, in my own opinion anyway._

_(Am also sending you chapters 18 shortly on that other (slightly more serious) email thread.)_

_Beware of the punctuation monsters and the griffins (they could eat you in your sleep)!_

_Cheers,_

_Powerful, Non-Crazy Wielder of Axes_

_PS. It hosts an air of novelty that yours cannot even begin to shadow! DS._

_PPS. Concerning PS: You are a snark. Period. DDS._

* * *

To: G. G. Axes at ardamail . com  
From: underthetrees at ardamail . com  
SA 2013-03-03 01:22:43

**Subject: Re: re: re: re: re: More clutter. Because I want to, OK?**

_Hello Wart,_

_(Yes, Wart. It is after all your name.)_

_Yeah, I'm finishing my last year. I'm home-schooled, my father has hired a couple of tutors for me; though they think I'm crazy (well, maybe not that exact wording) since I want to attend public school (especially old Galion). But all my friends go there and it is so dull to be stuck here at home. What about you?_

_And what on Arda do you mean by "slightly more serious"?! THIS THREAD IS MORE SERIOUS THAN THE LAST ALLIANCE._

_Hugs,_

_Greenleaf_

_PS. My shadow can pretty easily overwhelm yours. DS._

_PPS. Again you make no sense. DDS._

* * *

It has become a habit to after school settle by the computer, read through his notes and draft the next parts of the story – sometimes whole pages, at other times just a few paragraphs at most. The story starts to take shape, looking more like it should. The plot makes more sense now and the characters have gained a new depth. They are controlling the story as much as he; neither too much nor too little.

Then there are Greenleaf's red comments popping up here and there, constantly keeping him in check. But among them, he notices after a while, are words in green. They are light and full of praise. And as time wears on, they grow more and more common. But the red remains: strict and unforgiving, never letting him to start slacking.

Gimli starts to realize there might be a light at the end of the tunnel, after all.

* * *

"But, adar –"

"No more objections. I told you to begin packing an hour ago. And you are _not_ bringing that cat! I have spoken with Mrs Mark and her husband; you may go to her house this afternoon and drop off the fur-ball."

"Don't talk about Estel like that! I could stay at home," he edges, meeting the stern gaze. "I'm old enough! And I swear I'll study hard every day, the tutors can come over and make sure to -"

"I am not ignorant as to what happened last time I left you home alone," Thranduil cuts in sharply. "This discussion is over."

His ears go red at the memory. Inviting over the twins had seemed a good idea, at the time. He'd never thought they'd bring so much whisky or attempt to redecorate the bathroom. Honestly. And that thing with his daerada's antique armour had just been an _accident_. A hundred times he's apologized, and surely his ada should realize that it shouldn't matter that much now? It was over a year ago since it happened!

"But – that was an accident! I'm sorry, I've told you, I'm sorry – _please,_ adar -"

The door clicks shut.

Sighing, he turns to the open pack lying on the bed, desolate and empty in his resistance.

But then he finds another message in his inbox; silently urging for his attention.

* * *

To: G. G. Axes at ardamail . com  
From: underthetrees at ardamail . com  
SA 2013-03-15 19:05:59

**Subject: Important!**

_Dear Wart,_

_I'm afraid I'll be unavailable for a while. My father's going overseas on business and I'm obliged to go with him. This means I'll be unable to beta anything._

_I was wondering what deadline date you have set for the fic? I'm sorry for this inconvenience, especially if you're in a hurry. But if there's any crisis you could text me; my number is in the bottom of this message._

_Now I really got to pack. We leave port early tomorrow morning. I __**should**__ be back before the end of February/beginning of March, but am not sure and can make no promises._

_Good luck with writing! Don't make any silly errors. And be careful with your axes, you might cut yourself, and that would be horribly inopportune._

_Hugs,_

_Greenleaf  
My number is (+020)033-02938402._

_PS. How long have we had this discussion? It's rather silly. Snarkiness is __not__ a word, dear Wart. DS._

_PPS. I concede. You must be no other than a Dwarf – it explains __**everything**__! DDS._

* * *

Gimli is abruptly stuck by the fact that he knows essentially _nothing_ about Greenleaf. He doesn't even know their real name; not their race, not their gender … not their age.

But assuming by the message, they should be around the same age. If Greenleaf was an adult, they'd probably not be 'obliged' to follow their father overseas on business (what business?). And judging by his tumblr blog – which for some reason, despite Greenleaf seeming quite busy with beta reading, constantly is updated with loads of reblogs with pictures of kittens and odd knitting patterns and second-hand clothing – they _should, _logically, be around the same age (even if they're totally odd) – but then, it's difficult to know.

But where do they live? Does going overseas mean that maybe their father is heading for the Isles of Númenor? They are quite known for their abundant businesses and large banks, equivalent of those found in the heart of Gondor. Maybe that's were Greenleaf is from – Gondor?

They could be from Gondor, or any other part of the world. Gimli has no idea. Maybe Common isn't their first language and they're really from the other side of the globe.

The **reality** that this person, whose name he doesn't even know, has grown so close to him in this short while – the reality crashes suddenly down on him so frighteningly clear, like a bucket of ice square on the forehead.

This person may be hundreds, even thousands of miles away, far across oceans and mountains and little green hills, far off where Gimli can't see. But their text-based bantering lightens his heart and they've helped him out overwhelmingly much in return for nothing, and their frequent emails make it feel like they're always close by. He doesn't know their name. He's never seen their face or heard their voice. Yet they make him happier than he's ever been.

His father has remarked at it; probably just glad that his son smiles more, usually otherwise so quiet and secretive. Also Fíli and Kíli have noticed. He's pretty certain that they have made up various theories on his growing happiness (every theory involving awkwardly large amounts of nakedness) – hopefully his father will never hear about _that_.

Chewing his bottom lip, finding it suddenly difficult to think straight, he clicks Reply_. _He hesitates for a moment, hands hovering above the keyboard. What is he going to say? What _should_ he say?

The words come staggering, slightly hesitant:

_Hello Greenleaf,_

_Don't worry. I've planned on publishing in November or later (albeit your effectiveness has spurred me on greatly!) – I am in no hurry, don't get stressed up. You may though find yourself buried under a pile of new chapters to beta upon your return._

_Good luck with your journey! Are you going to the Númenor isles, maybe? I've visited them once or twice._

_Don't let your snarkiness sink the ship as you go, will you? Then it would force me to search for a new beta and such an occurrence would annoy me most greatly._

_And don't do anything I wouldn't do!_

_Gimli  
(I find no reason why not to use our proper names anymore)_

_PS. I'm on my way applying this word to the dictionaries throughout the whole of Middle Earth, I'll have you know! I shall shout it out from the tallest towers ever built! I have fairly good contacts. I DO NOT LIE. DS._

_PPS. I'll let you keep go on guessing. It's quite amusing watching you (well, hypothetically at least) strangle yourself in annoyance. DDS._

* * *

There is no answer next morning. And not the day after. Well, of course not; Greenleaf had said as much in the message.

Despite knowing that, the silence is unsettling.

After two days, unable to wait any longer (every fibre of his being itching as if craving to be released from a prison) Gimli sends a short; 'Everything going well on the other side of the ocean? /Gimli', to the number he had been given.

For the remainder of that day, he keeps glancing at his cell-phone every five minutes. Each time it vibrates and he picks it up, he only finds himself disappointed, as it's only one of his cousins (Kíli sounds rather drunk. Then again, it _is_ Saturday.), and once Thorin asking if he had taken any notes during that History lesson last Friday and please could he send a copy over?

(Gimli hadn't taken any notes.)

That evening he lacks any muse to write, so he curls up in front of the DVD – his father is out in the workshop still – and settles to re-watch his favourite Star Wars film.

But, it's kind of…lonely. And it strikes him as odd. He's liked solitude before, but now, he sort of wants to have someone sitting beside him; commenting the best parts alongside him and laughing with him, and crying with him and raving at the screen when he does. Now there's just silence and a cold sofa, and a silent buzzing tapping gently against his ears in the middle of a heated blasters vs. lightsabers battle.

Wait.

Buzzing?

Awkwardly he scrambles through his pockets until he finds the source. The small screen blinks to life: **You have 1 new message(s)**.

Ah! Finally!

'Hello, Wart,' the message reads. Gimli (although he would never admit it aloud) is too relieved to be annoyed at the nickname. 'Sorry for not answering earlier. Got held up. Everything is well, for me at least. Father is angry though, the business talks aren't going so well I guess. I don't know when I'll be back. How is the writing going? I hope you're not slacking off.'

'Me, slacking off? Never!'

The reply arrives after a few minutes.

'Good.' At this Gimli imagines Greenleaf to be smiling, but at the same time it's difficult since he has no idea what their face looks like. _'_It's kind of boring here. Mostly I'm stuck at the hotel. Was allowed to bring Estel though.' When reading this Gimli pauses, until he remembers it's the name of that insanely fluffy cat always featured at Greenleaf's tumblr. 'Kind of miss the banter.'

Quite curious, Gimli asks; 'Are there no friends or other family there with you?'

A few minutes pass, halting and irregular. Then:

'They couldn't come, though the twins, well – they're old friends of mine, we went to kindergarten together. Anyways they would've come but father didn't want that. Thinks they're too unruly, doesn't like their black leather jackets or really anything they do. Maybe because they're inclined to drag me out with them late at night. Luckily he doesn't know much about me.'

Surprised at this revelation, he replies, 'I thought you liked indie-pop and was a vegetarian and that.' He's not even sure what he means by 'that'. The only actual facts they've found out about one another have been through guesses and teasing, and none of them have really pressured the other into talking; they've guessed at each other's races but that is it, and Gimli is still hopelessly clueless.

'Well yes. Father's no idea that I really do, or that I write or anything. Would freak out if he found out. Wants me to go to law-school after grad. Was outright pissed when I said I want to do art. You should've have seen his face!'

Gimli abruptly gets a feeling that Greenleaf is distressed – _But_ _why_? he silently wonders; _What's happened? _- and all these sudden confessions are important to get of their chest. So he lets Greenleaf go on. Grabbed by a sudden urge to reach out and comfort them, he wants to hear more; but he doesn't know what's wrong and has no idea what to say. And he's never really been the pat-on-the-back kind of person. Every texted reply comes off as awkward.

'Why would he freak out?' he asks.

Glóin knows that he writes. Sure, he doesn't read it and doesn't know that it can be sometimes _very_ explicit, but he doesn't have a problem with it either. After all, he's perfectly okay with his son being gay and the coming out had been peaceful and calm, involving no screaming or running around (okay so, maybe Gimli had felt rather awkward when his Da decided to give him The Talk at that moment stressing the importance of safe sex), so the revelation of slash fic wasn't that much of a deal.

'He'd figure it out then.'

Gimli blinks as he tries deciphering the message. Figure it out? Figure out _what_?

'Anyway,' the message continues, tersely; 'can't talk more today. Tomorrow? Will probably be bored then too.'

'Of course!'

Not until after putting the phone away and unpausing the scene frozen on the television screen does he remember that he had completely forgotten to ask for Greenleaf's real name.

* * *

"But –"

It seems it's the word he uses most now, Legolas thinks with remorse. He doesn't want to sound like such a whiny brat.

But – always, _always_, his father must do this and that, and he can't remember last time they just spent the evening at home, talking about pleasant things and sharing a proper dinner. (Usually it's just Galion the butler serving the meal and Legolas eating it fresh and warm, and Thranduil coming home several hours later, when the food is cold and the kitchen silent. Legolas has woken up to the distant hum of the microwave a thousand times.)

But two more days? He's got a life too! He can't just keep travelling to and fro, dashing here and there, sleeping at hotels and waiting for his father's meetings to end. Maybe he could make up some argument about needing more time to study in peace, but has a feeling it would just sound false because honestly studies are the last thing on his mind. He just wants to talk face-to-face with Aragorn and the twins again. Go out with them and chat with Arwen and finish chapter twenty and –

His father looks apologetic, or at least he _tries_ to. For a moment he looks a lot more tired than usual, the almost permanent frown more apparent than ever, and his eyes are weary and old and Legolas wonders why his ada always must work this hard – it wouldn't hurt if he took a day or two off sometime. Surely he realizes that! They've got no money-trouble or anything. Just because he's managing the company it doesn't mean he has to _live_ it.

"It's just another two days."

He sighs, biting his lip. Crosses his arms over his chest. "_Just_ two days?"

Last time, the two days had turned out to be a whole week.

"Two days," Thranduil says - _promises_. "Three at most. We will be home shortly."

"You always say that," Legolas bites back, a flame suddenly flaring up in the centre of his chest – it's painful and burning, like leaving scars inside there, and suddenly he just wants to get away, can't stand here calmly facing his father anymore. "You always say that but it never happens! I didn't even get to say goodbye to the twins when we left this time! It's always just about _you_ and _work_ and never about _me_!"

A pained frown – different from the usual, dark one he wears – flashes across his father's face, like a wound opening up, but Legolas ignores the sting. "When are you going to think about _me_, ada? When are you going to actually _keep_ your promises?"

"Ion –"

He draws back sharply and turns on his heel, rushing for the door. He just. He needs to get out. Away. Breathe. His heart thunder. With anger. Disappointment. _Two days. _The door is slammed open and he doesn't care about a jacket; any chill won't bother him anyway, being an Elf. Still, the air is sharp and cold outside the hotel, and his eyes burn.

_Two days. But. But… Ada._

The city of Pelargir lies on the coast and is a busy trade-centre. There are always ships arriving and loading at the dock and people rushing everywhere, Elves and Men and Dwarves. Men are most prominent though, for this is Gondor, and there's never been many other folk living in this area. Walking aimlessly from the tall luxurious building where they've been spending the last few night, trying to get as far away from it as possible. Out of sight.

The sun is starting to dip into the horizon but the streets are full and noisy and will remain so for many hours more. The street lamps are glaringly sharp upon the concrete. It's too smelly and loud for his taste here (old remains of oil in the air), a thousand sensations invading his senses but just a handful of them pleasant. The flickering lights and the voices of various workmen shuffling on the streets are sharp and unsettling, too close, too noisy. There are just many people here, it's too crowded; he could suffocate in the mass of people.

But he likes it by the water, where the shore is gently caressed by the murmuring sea. The southern beaches are always occupied by tourists even at this time of year, talking slow walks by the edge of the sea now that the water is too cold to swim in, but there are a few quiet places to be found. Legolas has been here enough times to know about them.

There's this spot near the east loading dock, behind a large rock decorated with sea-shells, where the air is quieter and the sand soft beneath his feet. Nearby there is a footbridge. An elderly couple are standing on it taking photos, probably tourists, but otherwise, it's lonesome and they can't see him from vantage point. He sits down on the rock, wrapping his arms around himself as he draws up his knees and he stares out at the water. It rushes in and out of the bay so regularly, so calmly. He tries focusing on it, on the wonderful hum of water, but his angry pulse refuses to settle.

He hadn't meant to become so upset. Being confronted by his ada's hurt face like that was startling and unsettling, but … but his ada just won't _see, _won't_ understand_!

If only his ada wasn't so stubborn and cold all the time! Legolas just – he just wants to spend time with him. A few hours every day. To be held by some sweet nonsense words in the mornings before they part and in the evenings when they reunite. He wants to be able to hug him, like he did when he was eight and showing him so proudly that he could hit the bull's eye with his bow. He just wanted …

Angrily he rubs at his face, eyes burning again. No tears! Not now! _Damn it_, he doesn't need to –

A shudder works its way through his body. He needs distraction, to think of something else for a while. Anything. Anyone.

* * *

Next morning, he is informed that **You have 7 new message(s).** Together they make a thread of impatience and ridiculous amounts of boredom. He wonders at the first one being sent at 03:23, but then again, he's opened emails before to realize they had been sent at such an ungodly hour when any sane person would be asleep; Greenleaf is probably one of those people whose daily rhythm is totally upside down (or they don't sleep at all).

'Hey Wart,' reads the first. 'Or do you prefer being called Gimli? Anyway have you Wordfeud or anything else like that? I'm bored and everyone else won't play because they're too busy. AMUSE ME.'

So Greenleaf must be alone again, he concludes. Don't they have any work to do? But he won't complain. Their messages are more amusing than either of his cousins', even if they are sporadic.

Gimli barely manages to respond that yes, he does (Kíli "borrowed" his phone once and installed the app, and he hasn't bothered to remove it) and his username is the same there as everywhere else; within half a minute, he receives an invitation from TreesofErynLasgalen – and honestly, does _everything_ about Greenleaf's nicknames involve trees in one manner or another?

And they dare to keep remarking about his axes!

A battle soon ensues. Neither involving neither trees nor axes, other than in the form of swift messages like blows of a physical weapon landing in rapid succession. Gimli's going to beat this tree-hugger yet.

It's lunchtime and they - meaning himself and his youngest cousin - have entered the cafeteria pretty late; the queue is long and the food served turns out to be not very appetizing or warm. Fíli isn't present, instead attending a course in history (and as opposed to many other teachers', Professor Balin's classes are always rather interesting). However Gimli is glad now not having to take part. He's far more absorbed in figuring out the best letter combinations and – even more important – a fitting comment to counter Greenleaf's snarkiness with next time they text him.

Gimli spots Thorin and Company (or the Mountain Dwellers as they also like calling themselves, given Thorin is the King Under the Mountain and all) half-way across the room; there's a Halfling at the table as well, with curly blonde hair on his head and feet, which are bare in typical Hobbit style: he's never recalled seeing one of their folk wearing shoes. Hm, must be that Baggins figure. They are seemingly deep in discussion. Not wanting to bother them – and anyway, if sitting alone he might check if he's received any new messages - he steers toward an empty table some way back, near the double doors leading to corridor F2.

But then, Kíli grabs him firmly by the shoulders and forces him to sit down before Gimli can even process what is happening and even less start struggling. The tray is placed on the table with a thud. In a flourish Kíli pulls out a chair, twists it around and takes seat in front of him leaning his elbows against the back of the chair. For once he doesn't down his can of coke in one go: just sits there, staring at him intensely, causing Gimli to raise his bushy eyebrows.

"_What_?" he demands.

"You've acting odd; more odd than usual anyways. So, spill it."

He grunts displeasedly. "There's nothing to 'spill'."

"Okay, so it doesn't have anything to do with you suddenly texting all the time. And I mean _all_ the time. And with you constantly being so mysteriously secretive. You've always been peculiar but not like _this_."

"What of it?" Gimli retorts quickly, recoiling. His hand unconsciously lands on his jeans pocket. "Is a Dwarf not allowed to keep in touch with people?"

Suddenly, his younger cousin is upon him, sticky little paws grabbing for his pocket. Quickly Gimli stands and, making sure his cell remains safely out of reach, glares at his cousin crossly. "Hey! I am _not_ letting you—letting you snoop around _my_ stuff! Back off!"

"Then _spill it_," Kíli insists obstinately, remaining precariously close. "Who is it?"

"No one. Just, just a friend, that's all."

His cousin snorts sarcastically. "A _friend_. Sure, _just_ like you, to suddenly - oh. OH."

Abruptly, his cousin's mouth forms a perfect circle and Kíli freezes up as if his blood has just turned into something very cold or solid (or both). He might not even be breathing. For a moment Gimli fears for his health – then he fears for the blow to come and his own sanity when it lands.

Then:

"Oh. OH. MAHAL'S BEARD!" the younger Dwarf starts _shrieking_ and he flings himself from the chair, gaining the attention of most other people in the cafeteria. Various Dwarves and young men and women look up from their meals and start murmuring.

Great. Just what he needs. Now the school with be abuzz the following week or two with new talk of his cousin is a nut-case. But wait – everyone already knows that.

By now, Kíli's arms are flailing as his breathing grows strangled: "MAHAL'S. BEARD. GIMLI!"

Gimli almost, _almost_ gives in to the urge to smack his forehead against the table. Loudly. His ears burn terribly and his ears are ringing from his cousin's ridiculous behaviour.

"Mahal's beard," Kíli repeats, again, eyes bulging. He appears to have had an epiphany. "You've got a boyfriend!"

The red-bearded Dwarf scowls at him, arms crossed over his muscled chest. "Look, they're a _friend_," he stresses. "And keep your voice down for Mahal's sake!"

"Gimli - you've got a _boyfriend_! By Aulë! I never thought I'd see the day! I can't wait to tell Fíli!"

"Kíli—_no_—"

It's too late: the dark-haired Dwarf has suddenly set off, rushing down from the chair causing it to topple over and nearly spilling ketchup everywhere, and he is out of the cafeteria within a few seconds, waving his arms in wide gestures. His excited shouts can be heard disappearing down the corridor.

"REVOLUTION!" he's screaming, voice bouncing between the walls. (Understandably the freshmen give him a wide berth.) "FÍLI, IT'S _REVOLUTION_!"

The cafeteria has completely hushed down now: the silence is deafening. Gimli's face flushes, rapidly growing as red as his beard.

"What're you all staring at?!" he mutters gruffly and the nearest people slowly turn their backs, returning to their food.

Hesitant conversation rise again above the table. Soon, the rest follow suit, and the intelligible murmurs drown the clatter of spoons and forks. The young Dwarf feels Thorin's questionable gaze on him, but ignores him for now. If curious enough, Thorin will ask later, maybe give him a call after he's finished his sparring lessons.

Slowly Gimli exhales. He gathers his things and stiffly walks out of the large room, hands not quite steady. Oh_, why _has Mahal forced such painful cousins upon him?

A quiet Khuzdul curse leaves his mouth, hoarse in his throat. It soothes him none. He is forced to stop as he rounds a corner, pressing his bag against his chest as he leans against the wall: it is cool beneath his forehead.

…Why is heart suddenly beating so wildly against his ribcage?

* * *

Finally, nearing the end of the day, he finds a secluded corner in the eastern building, where mainly the Halflings hang out during breaks, and no one gives him a second glance. Now able to breathe at a normal rate and not having to worry about a Dwarf suddenly popping out of nowhere to attack him, he pulls out his phone.

**You have 9 new message(s).**

'Wart.'

'WART.'

'Axe-wielder of immense power etc. etc. etc. ...I AM WINNING OUR GAME if you haven't noticed yet.'

'If you're busy, I understand. But could you please answer this message when you get the chance?'

'It's…well. I've got some bad news. My father's decided we're staying for another two days. So it'll be some time before I can get back on track.'

'Gimli? GIMLI.'

'Are you all right? Am I disturbing you in the middle of something important? (if you're polishing your axes, I keep telling you, it's not good for your safety!)'

'Look, I'm sorry I keep calling you Wart. It's kind of a habit. But it suits you.'

And lastly: 'It's not even 3 pm yet and I'm already bored. Amuse me. I DEMAND IT.'

He can't hinder the grin tugging at his lips. His social life may be a disaster on the whole and his cousin is extremely awkward and not helping, but at least Greenleaf is there and he has his writing to return to.

'Yes, yes, I'm here, I'm alive,' he types. 'No need to sound so distressed.'

The reply is immediate. Almost as if (the thought selfish in his wanton, but also not that improbable) Greenleaf has been keenly waiting for minutes and hours for a simple hello. It's touching (and maybe a little bit worrying too).

'I'm not distressed!'

'Sure. How are you?'

'Good. Rather jaded. You?'

'I must admit your idiosyncrasy would liven up my day rather agreeably.'

'Whoa! That's a quite complicated word, dear Wart. Are you certain you know what it means?'

'Don't make me laugh!'


	6. Part 5

**PART 5**

To: G. G. Axes at ardamail . com  
From: underthetrees at ardamail . com  
SA 2013-03-26 02:22:54

**Subject: I'm back!**

_Hello Gimli!_

_I came ashore five hours ago – it's a long ride by car from Port Pelargir, and I fell asleep half-way. I was completely drained, which is odd; I usually don't get that tired._

_Anyway, I will return to beta reading shortly. I'm hungry for more of your fic and insanely curious to see what you've written in my absence. You haven't been slacking off, right?_

_Hugs and good night,_

_Legolas  
You're right, we should be on first name basis by now, shouldn't we? (But from my point of view we've always been.)_

_PS. Can't recall what the last PS-battle concerned and can't bother checking our last email thread tonight. DS._

_PPS. (Concerning the previously mentioned PS) But it surely was important and either way, __**I**__ was winning. Also Wordfeud rematch asap? This time I'll be nice, I promise. DDS._

* * *

A name – finally!

And it sounds, well, not _quite_ Mannish … nor that very girly. But who knows with people nowadays?

Anyway. Legolas is a good, strong name. It rolls nicely off the tongue, like fitting there. (Not that he goes around repeating it aloud or anything. That would be silly. He's just memorizing it, that's all.)

* * *

To: underthetrees at ardamail . com  
From: G. G. Axes at ardamail . com  
SA 2013-03-26 07:23:43

**Subject: Re: I'm back!**

_Hello Legolas,_

_I'm glad to hear it! And who are you calling lazy?! Here I've been working my ass off while you've slept away your boredom. Clearly your assumption is uncalled for._

_Cheers,_

_Gimli_

_PS. Hint: it involved __this.__ DS._

_PPS. The day you win is the day evidence is found that Durin the Deathless was in fact an Elf. Moreover you need not to claim you shall "be nice" in a pretentious attempt to cover up your obvious failure in this game. DDS._

* * *

Kíli is staring intensively at him again. His notebook lies untouched before him. And he's been like this for the whole last hour, completely ignoring lecture on biology. Fortunately (or in retrospection, perhaps not) Professor Brown is rather absent-minded and doesn't notice the lack of interest in the third row (or the rowdy fight at the back). He is too busy proudly showing the class overhead pictures of a certain breed of rabbits.

"What?" Gimli whispers furiously.

When given the attention, his cousin's eyes suddenly brighten, wide with curiousity. His voice is far too loud for Gimli to be comfortable. "Have you spoken with your boyfriend lately? Are you two having phone-s—"

A hand crashes down on the younger Dwarf's head with a loud _smack! "_Shut up!" he growls, eyes wide. "I've told you a thousand times, we're not together and certainly not doing _anything_ of the sort!"

"But," says Kíli then, a smug and quite evil glint in his eyes; "you _want_ to."

He earns another swat over the head for that. The heavy, seldom opened tome _A Thousand Useful Plants to Know, Because They Are Useful (as presented by T. Bombadill)_ comes very in handy for that purpose.

The dark-haired Dwarf rubs at the offended body part, groaning and they gain a few irate glances from classmates who actually try keeping up with that the teacher's saying.

"Ow, ow! What'd you do that for?!"

"Because you're the most annoying cousin in Arda. I've told you already, Legolas. Is. _Not_. My. Boyfriend."

"Legolas, huh? I'll have to remember that." And Kíli reaches for his pencil for the first time this day.

Gimli curses. In Khuzdul. _Loudly_.

Wait, is Kíli drawing hearts in his notebook? Why's he – _Oh_. _Fuuuuu_-

"_Kíli_," he mutters, grabbing for his own pencil. Would it be a crime to stab him now? Not mortally wounding him or anything, just his hand. It would be … self-defence, yes. "Seriously, Kíli. Stop it. Now. Or I'm going to hurt you. For real, this time."

Kíli seems exceedingly proud of him artwork, finishing the top round of the heart and giving it the finishing touch by writing 'G+L' in the centre. Grumbling, Gimli realizes that he's lost his pencil, therefore he has no weapon to stab his cousin with. (For self-defence.)

No, wait, that's _his_ pencil that Kíli is using!

"There - perfect! When's this class ever going to end? I want to meet up with Fee and show him this!" Kíli giggles a little. Wholly unbecoming for one of Durin's proud folk. And he's _still_ holding his pencil!

Gimli doesn't reply, only violently snatches the item from Kíli's hand with a grumble and turns his back, trying his best to ignore him and take calm breaths. Stupid cousins. Whoever taught him to draw hearts?

* * *

To: underthetrees at ardamail . com  
From: G. G. Axes at ardamail . com  
SA 2013-03-28 17:23:01

**Subject: Re: re: off-topic rants (I think we need a thread like this)**

_You wouldn't believe how my cousin's behaving! He's unbelievable! I really wish to strangle him sometimes! How can one single person be so – so – so __annoying__?!_

* * *

To: G. G. Axes at ardamail . com  
From: underthetrees at ardamail . com  
SA 2013-04-01 20:00:01

**Subject: Re: re: re: off-topic rants (I think we need a thread like this)**

_Hi Gimli!_

_I may not have any close cousins but I'm friends with the Twins (like having a set of brothers since kindergarten); and they can get me on my nerves quite a lot. Want me to come over and use him as target practice?_

_Just kidding. But seriously. Whatever use do you put your axes to? I think it's time you took them off your wall and not just to polish them._

_By the way, chapters 22-23 are 99% finished and will be sent to you ASAP. It looks amazing! You're improving at a breath-taking rate. Seriously, this fic will break new grounds._

_Hugs,_

_Legolas_

_PS. My offer still stands! Moreover, I'm on 270 points. Since you asked for it. DS._

_PPS (if you remember – it was a while ago). Mayhap this Durin guy was merely an Elf born very short and with an awkwardly long beard? DDS._

* * *

Legolas sends a lot of hugs.

Seriously, _no one_ has sent him so many casual hugs before. To start with, it's rather annoying, but then … it's kind of grown on him like every other of Legolas' antics, and he starts liking it.

And then when Legolas sometimes signs off his emails with something else, something not as warm, Gimli – briefly, but the feeling surging over him so oddly forcefully as well – wonders if everything is all right.

When feeling down, like after fighting with their father – which seems to happen worrisomely often - Legolas' wording is quite brisk and the proper greetings and endings of letters may be forgotten. And the texts then are sporadic and short and Gimli hangs on, like by the edge of a knife, stomach churning as he patiently waits for a reply to his meaningless rants. Just a ramble of words, kindly meant but he thinks, as soon as he hits the Send-button, that they could sound far too awkward and forced; but he means the words and he tries, he _tries_.

His attempts to cheer Legolas up might seem kind of pathetic in hindsight, but somehow they work. And, in turn, Legolas manages to raise his spirits too, with their sharp wit, their warm humour, their shared laughs and caring tone whenever Gimli hints at being tired or annoyed.

If he wants or needs to, Legolas has assured him, he can always talk, about anything really. Though, Gimli finds this kind offer unnecessary for him, for he can't come up with anything to talk about, not really; but he likes reading everything that his beta reader writes. Even when they are acting snarky and unforgivable.

* * *

To: underthetrees at ardamail . com  
From: G. G. Axes at ardamail . com  
SA 2013-04-01 21:34:22

**Subject: Re: re: re: off-topic rants (I think we need a thread like this)**

_Hello Legolas,_

_Thank you for your patience with my rant and the absence of proper greetings and all. It shan't happen again. Also, my cousins are going away with their mother for the weekend so I'll have a breather. (Breathing's the key when dealing with those two.)_

_Great to hear! This cooperation is proving to be more effective than I could ever have hoped for._

_Cheers,_

_Gimli_

_PS. That's not even a proper word! Whoever checks the wordlist of this game? I should file a complaint. And don't be so smug! I shall beat your meagre score shortly. Be ready. DS._

_PPS. 'That Durin guy'? An Elf?! THAT IS UTTERLY RIDICULOUS AND FALSE! DDS._

* * *

Legolas smirks at the last line. Riling his fellow writer up was always as much fun.

There's something about Gimli, though, that makes him seem so ridiculously cute. He had a strange urge to curl up around him and pat his head. Far too cute to be legal.

* * *

To: G. G. Axes at ardamail . com  
From: dw. alin. the. master at ardamail . com  
SA 2013-04-25 14:07:18

**VERY** **IMPORTANT !**

_Greetings fellow Dwarf,_

_The Company wants to meet at the Prancing Pony tomorrow at 2 pm. Please reply whether you're coming. AND MAKE SURE YOU'RE COMING; OTHERWISE I SHALL BE VERY DISPLEASED. Apparently Thorin has something important to announce and a simple call won't do. Also the info provided by you came in handy, judging by Thorin's mood. He does not growl that much._

_Yours Sincerely,_

_The Master Dwarf_

* * *

Gimli has to double check the name before he realizes that it's Dwalin, and not Legolas. He's gotten so used to receiving nearly an email a day from his beta, that it's kind of weird getting such an official-sounding request from Dwalin to attend to one of those Company meetings. They're always so formal when they meet up, Thorin and his Company.

Frankly Gimli thinks it's quite ridiculous. However, a call is a call, and he has a duty, especially considering Dwalin is practically threatening him with this one short message. Besides, it's at the Prancing Pony so it won't be that bad. He can drink his coffee and listen to the other Dwarves' rants, nod and hum at the right moments and take notes as a secretary (he usually gets to do that). Meanwhile he could probably also scribble on the napkins and plan out the climax for chapter twenty-one, the one with the dragon …

So, next day – which is a Saturday – Gimli drags himself out of bed on time and dutifully combs his hair, and gathers a pencil and a notebook before he heads off.

The best thing about the Company meetings is the free coffee - or at least discounted coffee, because Barliman likes them. And there are always muffins too, his favourite sort. The Prancing Pony is packed but the barista does not seem to mind – their occasional meetings here bring him quite a lot of money.

Dwalin is there and Thorin (of course), his cousins and Nori, Ori and Dori (they're brothers and Gimli assumes that their parents ran out of names). Also Bombur is present devouring a giant chocolate cake and Bifur is muttering about everyone being too darn loud (meanwhile, a pair of headphones are stuffed in his ears).

There's a new face there as well and it does not belong to a Dwarf, that's for certain. Gimli stares at the Hobbit for a while trying to remember where he's seen him before. Ah! That's right. The Hobbit. Baggins, wasn't it?

"Dear members of the Company –" Thorin starts, standing up on one of the chairs, and Gimli rolls his eyes; this is one of those times when Thorin has to be all high and mighty and hold a long, majestic speech. It'll take him at least the quarter of an hour to get to the point.

"Yes, yes, yes, we get it," says the Hobbit in a fairly impatient voice. "I don't honestly see the point in – what'd you call it? - an 'official announcement'. It's not that much of a deal."

"But it is!" insists Thorin. "You're mine and thus I must declare it!"

Gimli coughs rather loudly. He's not surprised that Thorin is possessive, especially as a boyfriend; however he couldn't have foreseen him dating a Hobbit. But Bilbo seems like a nice guy, able to keep Thorin in check which is good.

"So _that's_ why you've assembled us? Because you need to tell us you've got a boyfriend when you could have simply updated your Facebook status?"

"Of course! It's tremendously important," the Company's Leader says heatedly. "Just announcing it online isn't going to do it. People can be so thick-headed sometimes."

Nori looks affronted. "Hey! Who're you calling thick-headed?"

Meanwhile, Nori's brother smirks and leans over the table in an inconspicuous manner to whisper in Gimli's ear: "You surprised?"

Gimli elbows him. "Shut up. Besides I was busy with something really important when you called me here," the red-head says, only to be interrupted by an insane cackle. Very, very insane. Also very unwelcome. Mahal how he wishes there were some invisible trapdoors around here so that he could disappear!

"Yeah! Gimli and Legolas, sitting in a cyber-tree, K-I-"

Glaring dangerously in the direction of the two cousins who have begun to chant in choir, Gimli waves around the coffee spoon like a deadly sword, his poise ready to strike. The barista behind the counter looks a little alarmed – probably fearing any impending smashing of china and the frightening off of customers.

"You shut up!"

"Hey, hey!" Thorin cuts in. "This meeting's about announcing that Bilbo and I are dating! Not about anyone Leg-what's-their-face and, and was that Gimli? In a tree? Wait, uh."

Thorin suddenly stops, awkwardly scratching his stubble as if realizing he's probably insulted somebody. Gimli is vaguely aware that the Hobbit has kicked the mighty Dwarf in the shin, muttering something on his breath; Thorin clears his throat and his voice is unusually high-pitched. It's rare to see him put so off-balance. "I mean, it's nice to hear you're getting a leg around someone. Ha, a _leg _around Legless."

Nori snorts with badly supressed laughter and tries hiding it behind his tea mug. In the background, the Hobbit groans.

"It's _Legolas_," Gimli rights him automatically. Because honestly how can anyone mistake such a beautiful name? It's outrageous! They could at least get it right even if they plan on insulting him, assuming he's … _eloping_ with his beta!

Still unstoppable, the cousins of doom are continuing to singing, probably scaring off costumers and they take advantage of the slight pause to raise their voices even more: "…sitting in a cyber-tree, K-I-S-S-I-N-"

"And we're _not_ _dating_! Whenever are you going to get it, you, you slow-munching, orc-infested pieces of … _Elf-brains_!"

The little Hobbit, who has sat still observing this exchange with bright eyes but a confused expression up till now, clears his throat. "This is getting a bit over my head," Bilbo says. "I thought you said your buddies were going to take this calmly and then we could go buy some ice-cream."

There's another snort; this time from Dwalin, who might seem very dangerous and imposing to anyone (despite his height) but the Hobbit doesn't even blink. "Calmly? Yeah, right."

Gimli thinks this is getting ridiculous. He just wants to go home and finish writing. It would be convenient if his Da called right about now to say that dinner's ready.

* * *

To: G.G. Axes at ardamail . com  
From: underthetrees at ardamail . com  
SA 2013-05-17 18:37:22

**Re: re: re: re: off-topic maybe but hardly ranting**

_Hey Gimli! How is it going?_

_I'm a bit busy with a big assignment right now. Going out for a night would have been a nice distraction, but I don't think I could, given dad refuses to chauffeur me._

_Mithlond, my home town, is really the middle of nowhere. It's a tiny place, nothing much to be found except for a couple of bars and an old cinema. Our house is situated a couple of miles outside town and there's practically no busses or other communal traffic out here. I really wish I got my driver's license already!_

_Where are you from, by the way?_

_I think I'd better go back to homework now before my dad comes to see me slacking off. He might be starting to figure that when I'm beta'ing I'm not writing that history thingy I was meant to … better hurry up getting everything done and handed in. Graduation isn't that far off now, you know._

_How is it with graduation and stuff for you? Any parties or balls you're going to attend to?_

_Hugs,_

_Legolas_

_PS. Are you _certain_ you are not a Dwarf? You seem very much like a Dwarf. Probably with darkish hair or an odd colour. Auburn or red. Yeah, that seems about right. Oh, and don't forget the band tee and plaited beard! DS._

* * *

To: underthetrees at ardamail . com  
From: G. G. Axes at ardamail . com  
SA 2013-05-17 22:01:01

**Re: re: re: re: re: off-topic maybe but hardly ranting**

_Hello Legolas!_

_I'm doing well. Writing is coming along as it should (no need to ask!). Assignment-wise, things are starting to even out. I've got a huge maths test next Friday, something about differential equations. I'm greatly looking forward to graduation next month! It's the seventh of June for my part. What about you?_

_But going to a ball, _me_? Pfft. My ears would grow pointed before _that_ happens! Though I've got a couple of friends insisting that I go – it's on the second of June I believe – but I'll resist them, somehow. Possibly using the Force, and cookies._

_I'm from Erebor, by the way – it's westward of the Misty Mountain ridge. It's on the bigger side but the community is cosy._

_Good luck with that history project! I'll go and check over the maths before tomorrow. Hopefully._

_Cheers,_

_Gimli_

_PS. You're very insistent, you know that? One'd think you'd given it up by now, but no. Fantastic, now my beta is making assumptions that I'm some stocky redhead without knowing a thing! Pfft, you're probably blonde, given your attitude. DS._

* * *

To: G. G. Axes at ardamail . com  
From: underthetrees at ardamail . com  
SA 2013-05-18 18:37:22

**Re: re: re: re: re: re: off-topic but hardly ranting, no**

_Hello Gimli,_

_You're from Erebor, really? (I know my geography, no need to point it out!) I'm going there on a trip in nearly two weeks! (One of father's business trips of course, but this one is _meant_ to be pleasant.) It's my last break from schoolwork – on all other trips I've always brought my books and stuff and father has made sure I studied. (But he didn't foresee the hotel's free internet that one time …) Anyway, no homework this time, so I'll have lots of time to do whatever I want. FREEEEDOOMMM!_

…_Ahem._

_Anyway, maybe we could meet up? I've never been to Erebor before but heard there's meant to be a really good theatre there, Helm's Deep (isn't it the base of the company The Rohirrim? Watched them once performing 'The Children of Húrin' when I was in Minas Tirith last year. If you haven't seen it already you should!). Or maybe you'd rather do something else?_

_Of course, if you don't want to meet, or are too busy, I understand. I don't wish to interfere or anything. But it would be nice finally seeing each other face to face!_

_Hugs,_

_Legolas_

_PS. Woah! Spot on! (And I'll take that as a compliment, not an insult.) I'm blonde - Father refuses letting me dye it. BUT I HAVE PLANS. Also I am 99% sure you're ginger. DS._

* * *

_Maybe we could meet up?_

For a moment, Gimli's breathing stills.

Legolas wants to meet? With him?

Legolas wants to _meet_ … with _him_!

Then as if grabbed by a wind of force, a wild hail, a vicious storm of lightning, he finds himself typing away, his heart suddenly soaring with anticipation:

_Hello Legolas!_

_I'd love to meet you! The theatre is great, and yes it's the base of The Rohirrim. I agree; their take on The Children of Húrin was utterly _gorgeous_! They might even be playing it in two weeks, we could go see it if you'd like. And there's a really good coffee shop I'd like to show you and_

Suddenly he halts, hands growing still – they're not really steady. He's…he's getting too carried off. Legolas is just asking as a curious friend, nothing else. Even if …

Oh Mahal, he's starting to sound like some overexcited Halfling! Legolas is just a _friend_. He doesn't need to prove anything, not boast of his home-city's worth or his own and he really, really needs to get control of his breathing right now.

Finally, (instead of describing every little thing in complete detail) he settles for:

_and many other things that Erebor has to offer. Which date will you arrive?_

_We could meet at The Prancing Pony, the coffee shop. They serve really good lattes, which I'm sure you'd appreciate._

_Cheers_

Again, a pause. 'Cheers?' He's kept signing in that or a similar manner since a few weeks back, to counter the hugs which are more friendly and personal than 'Yours Sincerely'. Now though he has this urge to backspace and say 'Hugs' back.

How would Legolas react to that?

Surely they can't take it in any ill manner. They throw hugs everywhere! Hugs are kind and warm and friendly. Hugs are good. So the Dwarf presses backspace and writes instead:

_Hugs_,

_Gimli_

_PS. Blonde, huh? Strange, I could not believe such a thing, given your way with words. But then again, there's something about you and your snarkiness in excess - so it kind of explains it really. And you guessed right – _how_ I cannot know! My hair is red and also utterly outstanding. DS._

* * *

The reply comes within half an hour. Legolas lingers on the chair, eyes plastered to the screen, heart in his throat. He just – he just can't calm down. Oh Valar. What's he just asked? He can't believe he just asked that.

What if Gimli says no? What if they won't meet?

What then?

Legolas wouldn't be able to show himself on the streets of Erebor if that happened, lock himself in on the hotel room instead, just in case the Dwarf walked by – they might not recognize each other, but still … Oh. Eru.

_Don't say no, __**please**__ don't say no…!_

* * *

Then:

To: underthetrees at ardamail . com  
From: G. G. Axes at ardamail . com  
SA 2013-05-18 19:00:41

**Subject: Re: re: re: Meeting up (?)**

_Hello, Legolas!_

_I'd love to meet you! ..._

* * *

To: G. G. Axes at ardamail . com  
From: underthetrees at ardamail . com  
SA 2013-05-18 19:12:59

**Subject: Re: re: re: re: Meeting up**

_Hello Gimli,_

_I'm so glad to hear it! I can't wait._

_The Prancing Pony, it's in the centre of town? I'll probably have to consult some maps._

_We'll arrive at the airport quite late on 31/5, so I'll probably not be able to meet up until next morning. Twelve o'clock-ish? I can't give any details yet though, must talk with my father first; you know, if he wants me to come with him somewhere, albeit I doubt it. He'd hardly go on an art exhibit or museum with me (probably thinks I'm "too excited" about stuff like that already). Anyways. I'll find my way to the café one way or another. We'll keep in touch, yeah?_

_Hugs,_

_Legolas_

_PS. I was RIGHT! Finding a red-haired Dwarf can't be _that_ hard, even in the middle of Erebor. DS._

* * *

Two weeks.

In two mere weeks, they're going to **meet**.

He and Legolas. For real. Face to face. In the physical world.

TWO. WEEKS.

How the hell is he going to prepare himself, mentally and literarily and physically, for this? How on _Arda_…?!

Oh, oh Mahal! – Legolas is going to meet him! And Legolas is going to see he's actually a Dwarf (though Greenleaf already knows this with a 99.9 % certainty) and not just any Dwarf; he's a bit on the stout side, and his beard is a bit on the curly side – oh by Aulë, what if Legolas doesn't actually like Dwarves that much? What if they find beards distasteful? Or has something against gingers, therefore the sharp commentary? What if…_what if…!?_

Needless to say, his gut is tying itself in a thousand agonizing knots.

What on Arda has he just agreed to?


	7. Part 6

**PART 6**

The days seem to slow down. Each hour is excruciating. He can't stop looking at his watch, counting the hours and minutes and seconds. Can't stop looking at the date at the bottom of the computer screen, mentally crossing out number after number.

It's just ten days left.

Then there are nine.

And the clocks starts ticking faster.

_Mahal_. He's starting to truly panic now. What's he going to say once they finally meet? They've never even called on the phone, just texted. He's never used his voice when communicating with Legolas. Just his hands, the words etched to his fingertips.

And should he maybe tell Legolas beforehand more details on what he looks like, so they can find each other? What in the name of all mountains holy is he going to _wear_? Erebor is pretty big and the Prancing Pony usually packed. Especially considering Legolas said he's never been there before and will be quite lost to begin with. Should he wear highlighting colours and whatnot or go neutral or wear a suit? It's not … not that formal is it?

It's not a date … he thinks. No, they didn't agree on anything like that. Just, meeting, like friends. Like friends.

(But Gimli cannot still his wildly beating heart at the thought, however brief it might be.)

And what if Legolas doesn't find his beard agreeable?

There are so, so many things that could go wrong.

Aulë – _six days!_

* * *

They had insisted on a sleepover. Why, Gimli doesn't know. But his cousins do weird things like that from time to time and his Da readily agrees (maybe because he's happy to cook for more than two).

He, Fíli and Kíli end up spending the evening playing video games (he totally busts them, naturally, since they do it so rarely that they don't have any practice) and drinking coke (of the _proper_ sort) and his Da is also there somewhere in a corner, looking on amusedly while working on one of his latest projects, involving quite a lot of pearls.

For a few precious hours, Gimli stops the panicked chant of OH MAHAL I'M GOING TO MEET LEGOLAS _TOMORROW_ (followed by a long row of exclamation marks).

Then, midnight comes around; his Da goes to bed, shutting the door tight and they swear that they won't be (too) loud, "Really, promise." albeit such a promise is difficult to keep with three teenage boys around.

The wee hours pass and after beating the two brothers harshly in yet another row of various games, rolling his eyes at their whining about him 'cheating' (as always too jealous to appreciate true talent), Gimli unclogs himself from the sofa.

"Does anybody want pizza? There's some more left in the fridge," he says, recalling the rather frenzied debate they'd held a few hours prior when dinner was to be decided, and they had fought for the right to order for a while.

"Is there any of the kebab left?" asks Fíli hopefully.

"Yes, since you insisted ordering so much of it. _With_ pineapple," the red-head adds with a grimace. Seriously, pineapple - with kebab? His cousin's utterly crazy (no surprise to anyone).

"Yay!"

"Your taste is abhorrent. You know that, right?"

"Hey! _Nobody_ insults my pineapple delights!"

With a sigh and mutter in Khuzdul, Gimli leaves the room, the television screen frozen. He glances at his two cousins once more before leaving for the kitchen. They're sitting unusually still. Most of the time they can't even stand up at the same spot for thirty seconds, even less sit in a sofa taking it easy. Now, however, they sit there. Murmuring softly to one another. Suspiciously still.

Maybe they've just gotten out of the sugar high though – thank Mahal for that! (At least they brought soda, not energy drinks which has been banned from this house all since that incident with Aunt Dís two years ago).

With a final warning look at the two, he heads toward the fridge.

"Clear?" whispers Kíli excitedly. His brother gives him first a perplexed look, then it dawns on him, and he looks back at the open doorway. The shadow of Gimli slips away, the floor groaning ever-so-slightly beneath his feet. There's the sound of the fridge opening and the rattle of plastic and carbon boxes.

"Clear."

The walk up the stairs is painfully slow. They must make sure not to make any sounds. Fortunately, they are very familiar with this building, and know to avoid the fifth step from the bottom. From there on all goes smoothly.

The door to Gimli's room (the walls littered with band posters, fantasy maps and post-it-notes) is half-open and the phone simply lies there, on the nightstand, entirely unguarded. A forgotten lamp is casting a yellow warm glow on the floor and their faces as they approach.

Kíli launches forward. He and his brother have been waiting for an opportunity like this for _days_: perhaps he even more than Fíli. Hence his excitement and why he has been "just hanging around" his cousin's house for several afternoons in a row, and suggesting this sleepover in the first place.

Faintly from the kitchen, there's the sound of footsteps and the humming of a micro-wave. They'd better hurry.

He knows his cousin well enough to crack his password within three minutes. As soon as that is done, he goes to Gimli's latest text messages. The name he seeks is found at the top: the last message was sent yesterday night, shortly after midnight.

Perfect!

"Look, Kíli," mutters Fíli, albeit he itches too to do something – honestly, Gimli's sulking _can _be remedied if he just gets his thick head around the matter and _talks_. But he stubbornly refuses. He had muttered something about 'Just friends' and stalked off last time Fíli inquired him about it. Still, this is an intrusion of _privacy_. There's a limit, surely… "Should we really—?"

"Just look at this!" his brother cuts him off and shows him the latest message. It's surprisingly…cute for being written by their cousin. And the right-_there_ reply causes them both to snicker hopelessly.

Once their chuckles have died, the dark-haired Dwarf continues: "Let's face it: we're doing him a favour. It's _obvious_ this Legolas guy is flirting with him and he's just too absorbed in his angsty mood to notice! Yeah, he's going to hate us for sure for a while. But then he's going to thank us heartily."

His brother sighs, knowing _that_ look. There's no stopping Kíli, whether he agrees to take part or not. And he has got a point. They have reached the limit now of how much more grumpiness they can take from their cousin; and he's been especially on edge as of late. They are going to figure out his secrets though. "Oh, what the heck." He plops down on the sofa and crowds around the phone in Kíli's hands.

"Okay, let's see. 'Dear Legolas ...'"

"He starts several texts like that," his brother points out. "Nothing unusual."

"Which is why _we_ use it. Otherwise he'd figure it's someone else and get suspicious. Hmm... 'I have a confession to make. I really want to grab your nice little ass-' Would Gimli talk like that? Um. Probably not. But I bet he _wants to_! … '-and haul you back to my dark', no, wait, 'obscure cave. I have had this deep, inexplicable desire for some time now. A desire for you. In my bed. Preferably naked.'"

"No beating about the bush," Fíli remarks.

His brother smirks, flashing a row of shining white teeth. "It's a natural talent."

* * *

Sometime later, Gimli returns, carefully balancing three plates on his hands and arms. But the living room is void of activity, save for the quiet buzz of the television set. Then where…?

Oh _no_.

Right before he'd left, his cousins had been acting far too innocent and talking too loudly. Of course he should have anticipated this! He's such a fool! An utter _idiot_! Turning on the threshold, he heads toward his room. They've definitely been up to something.

Everything in the room looks the same, except his phone, which now lies on the chair instead of the desk. And, he finds, the messages are open. The latest one is one he has definitely _not_ written. He doesn't even need to read it through to know.

"KÍLI!" he bellows at the top of his lungs. "FÍLI!"

There's a great scurrying of feet, a sudden cry of: "Oh, look at the time! Got to go!" and the door opens, slams shut, trembling at the force. Gimli, teeth gnashing, runs after them, but the brats have already fled – as if they've planned this, leaving behind a mess of empty packets of crisps and sleeping bags upturned on the living room floor.

From upstairs there's a mutter: "Gimli! What's all this racket about? I'm trying to sleep here!"

"Um – sorry Da, didn't mean to wake you," he manages to choke, albeit he's uncertain if his old man can hear.

Oh, when he gets his hands on them …!

Groaning at the mere thought of what misery they might just have forced upon him, he returns to his room, now to read the message through carefully. Hopefully, hopefully they have just messed around a little bit; sent a short drunk-like text to one of his friends like Thorin. He'd understand at once, and there'd be nothing awkward about it, forgotten at once. Or maybe Dwalin, even if the Master Dwarf wasn't really fond of weird stuff happening like that (the only thing he did at parties was eating).

But it's not sent to Thorin. Or even Dwalin. Or any other Dwarves on his contact list.

And it's _not_ short.

It's very, um, explicit in its how it explains all the things that 'Gimli' wants to do with the receiver of the message. And a lot of more things are implied and it goes on about 'roses are red, the sky is blue' and he's not even going to mention the last bit; and that 'You make me feel like an adorable mush of FEELS' and 'I want to [censored] frivolously with you.'

Oh.

Dear.

_Aulë_.

How is he ever meant to survive facing Legolas _now_?

* * *

It's the middle of the night when they finally reaches the hotel. Usually, he'd just collapse on his bed and prepare himself for the coming text of boredom. But now, he's bouncing with energy, almost out of his control. As father begins to remove his ever-present suit and perfectly straight tie, Legolas hastily searches through his bag for a pair of pyjamas. Then he grabs his phone and his laptop and settles on one of the springy beds, lying on his stomach. The glow of the screen is pale and bright, and his father makes a noise of discontentment at the back of his throat.

"Legolas, it's late. You have time for that in the morning."

"Just a minute, ada," he pleads. "I just want to check something."

His father gives him a hard stare but thankfully is too tired to argue, and goes to the bathroom to freshen up.

Legolas, glad of the internet connection, quickly logs onto his ardamail. He skims past the few alerts of kudos and tumblr followers, searching for something quite more important. Within seconds he finds it and clicks Reply, quietly thanking the hotel's free internet access.

* * *

To: G. G. Axes at ardamail . com  
From: underthetrees at ardamail . com  
SA 2013-08-01 02:01:47

**Subject: Re: re: Visit to Erebor**

_Hello Gimli!_

_I've just arrived at the hotel._

_I just thought you should know, that when we meet at the Prancing Pony I'll (most probably) be wearing a black sweater, a pair of dark jeans and green sneakers (if this changes, I'll message you ASAP). And as you know, I'm blonde and also my ears are pierced. I'm quite pale and rather tall too._

_Should we meet outside the doors of the café? And any landmarks would be extremely helpful._

_Hugs,_

_Legolas_

* * *

He's just sent it as his father returns, and with a sight and rolling his eyes exasperatedly at the stern look Thranduil sends him, the logs off and shuts the laptop, putting it back in the bag.

After brushing his teeth, he returns to the bedroom to find it already utterly dark. His sharp elven eyes find the bed without trouble though and he's just settled under the white covers, when there's a faint vibrating sound.

"Legolas!" his father growls. "I thought I told you to shut that thing off."

"Sorry," he mutters, grabbing for his phone. As the screen glaringly comes to life, his father's voice drops another few levels, dangerously cold: "Legolas!"

**You have 1 unread message(s).**

He lazily opens the text and scrolls through it. It's unusually long. But Gimli writes long odd things sometimes, and the warm greeting makes him smile. And then he hits the second line. And then the third.

The words grow hot, and the details goes on, followed by some frankly horrible and very unoriginal poetry; and _then_ -

Unwillingly, his pulse speeds up and the pointy tips of his ears flush.

Oh – _oh_.

Is … is Gimli drunk or something? He hadn't thought Gimli was the kind of person to get (this) drunk, but …

"Legolas! This is your final warning."

He has to be.

He _has_ to be.

"_Legolas_!"

"Y…Yes, Ada."

A bit uncertain, he hesitates before replying: 'Gimli, are you drunk? Because being drunk is most unwise even at this hour. Or at least when you have access to a phone.'

But he can't see the answer. It has to wait until morning. Reluctantly, he turns the phone off and rolls over, back to the wall. No matter though how much he twists and turns, rest won't come to him, and dawn excruciatingly approaches slowly. His mind whirls.

Drunk or not – it sounded like he _meant_ it. And. Oh Valar. Sure, he's read lot of implicit, explicit things. And written it too. Lots of silly romantic novels and stories, but this, this is a whole other thing. This is _Gimli_. And he's saying things like that, in the middle of the night.

Legolas' face heats up even more when, some hours into the restless night, the message returns in clarity to his mind and he finds he has an, umm, awkwardly hard problem. He squirms uncomfortably. But if he excuses himself to go to the bathroom now his father will wonder what's wrong and that's a conversation he'd rather not face today or any other day really.

Oh Valar, how is he going to be able to face Gimli in less than twelve hours without _fainting_?


	8. Part 7

_Author's note: As I nowadays am more active over at AO3 (same penname) you'll find most recent updates of all my stories over there. If nothing seems to happen on my account here for awhile, I still might have updated or published something new over at AO3. Link is on my profile page._

* * *

**PART 7**

Morning comes.

His father wakes early, dresses in a perfectly pressed suit and heads down for breakfast. The hotel is (naturally) first class so everything, breakfast including, is top-notch. Then, his father says, he has some business to attend to and he won't be back until sometime around four.

But the thought of food makes only Legolas' stomach turn, so he politely excuses himself, lingering in the hotel room. Seven AM. Too early still – they had decided to meet at twelve thirty, since Gimli finished his classes early today.

Thus Legolas has all the time he needs, and more, to find the perfect clothes to wear. Only, since he'd already decided yesterday, it doesn't take that long. He stares at himself in the mirror for a long while. Is it all right? His hair is simply combed straight, except for a thin braid falling from behind his left ear, but he would kind of like redoing it. Add another. Or would that be too much? Should he skip the helix piercing?

But this isn't some … some date or other thing like that. It's just a meeting between friends. Right. A meeting. Nothing extraordinary. He shouldn't be getting this worked up or worried about his looks over such a thing!

_But_, he bites his lip thinking then; _the text_ –

Valar, he still can't forget about it.

There's been nothing following it, just silence. No more such … confessions. No ramblings or sarcastic comments or awkward regrets. Just …**nothing**.

Is Gimli regretting what he wrote? Is that it? He didn't mean it? What if he doesn't want to meet up anymore? What if he sends word any minute now that, 'Sorry, but I don't want to see you, it was a mistake'…?

Anxiously continuing to worry his bottom lip, Legolas glances at his phone. Should he text him? Say something about the nightly message? Should he just ignore it?

This isn't just – this isn't like in one of those stories, when he could do whatever, the writer would make sure things got well in the end. When everything would work out fine and there'd always be a light at the end of the tunnel. This isn't some story like that. This is _real_.

He can't sit still. He keeps walking back and forth for a while, thoughts forming a vortex, wild and irrepressible, which keeps sucking him in – deeper and deeper down into dark doubts.

Maybe he should just … just not go.

No! He can't do that. Can't just abandon Gimli like that. Then their friendship – is it friendship? It has to be. Surely – it would fall apart like glass hitting a stone floor. He can't ruin everything like that!

Needing to do something, _anything_ to settle his thudding heartbeat and trembling hands, he starts unpacking everything, putting the items on the bed. Clothes and accessories and shoes are soon spread all-over the pristine sheets, alongside his favourite novel (a well-thumbed copy of _The Silmarillion_). Then, he starts trying them on in all various combinations and doing silly impersonations in front of the mirror. To shut out his inner voice, he puts on his favourite playlist on highest volume, not caring if it may disturb neighbouring guests. (Anyway, the hotel has thick walls; it's been built by Dwarves, after all.)

It barely works.

Then, at 11 AM, his phone blinks to life. Legolas stills in the middle of a ridiculous pose, heart leaping to his throat.

It's Gimli. The words are tentative. Not really like Gimli's – they are usually so stout and proud and, well. Neck growing hot, the young Elf pushes away the unfinished thought.

'Are we still meeting today?'

_Oh thank the Valar!_ flashes through Legolas' mind like lightning. He practically collapses on the nearest chair.

'Yes! Of course!' he replies. Then, adds (because _what if_…); 'If you still want to.'

'Naturally!' Relieved, Legolas breathes out slowly. 'Twelve thirty then? The Prancing Pony is quite easy to find. Just round the corner of Central Street. Look for the park and then just head west and it should be right in front of you. The sign is green with a white horse on it.'

The park … They had driven past it last night. They ought to be a taxi that could take him there. He is very glad for having been given some pocket money for such a purpose.

'Okay, thank you! I'll see you there, then.'

* * *

A final time he looks at the mirror. Tries to find a confident poise, without uncertainly hunched shoulders. Okay. Deep breaths. He can do this. He can do this.

'Okay, thank you! I'll see you there, then.'

Thank Aulë!

The lasting terror, while not quite squeezed from his bones yet, fades for the moment and Gimli manages to heave himself up from the seat. Legolas has either not seen the message or he's forgotten about it; or, most likely, he's "forgotten" about it.

Either way, Gimli is glad. He'll just – just avoid that certain topic when they meet up and talk.

Oh Mahal.

They're going to meet.

In an hour.

OH MAHAL'S BEARD.

When he grabs his keys and wallet and, grabbed by an unexpected hurricane of energy, dashes from his room, footsteps thundering down the stairs, his Da pops his head out of the kitchen.

"Gimli, where are you going?"

"Meeting a friend downtown!" he cries, hastily donning his boots.

He looks at himself in the hall mirror, something which usually never happens. He's a proud and strong Dwarf, well aware of his finer qualities with no need to exaggerate his handsomeness. Still, does his beard look OK? Maybe he'd have braided it once more. Maybe this red shirt isn't good enough … He twists his head a little, gaze yet fixed on his glass counterpart, adding: "I'm borrowing the car. Is that all right?"

"Sure, son. Just don't crash into anything. Coming back for dinner?" There's a clattering noise from the kitchen. His Da might have dropped something.

"I'm not sure," Gimli answers edgily. "There's no need to wait up."

He scarcely hears Glóin's reply, already out of the door.

* * *

**You have 1 new message(s)**

'Hi Gimli. I'm by the café now, at least judging by the sign above the door. By the way, that is a _pony_, not a horse; pretty obvious I'd say. But then again I am not surprised you have missed such a thing. Hopefully I'm not lost. I can't spot your red beard anywhere yet though.'

* * *

Gimli's breath is knocked from his lungs.

There, by the door, stands a solitary figure: unmoving against the mass of people. Legolas is tall and blonde – the tresses are long and neat, only slightly stirred by the wind and there's a single thin braid decorating it, falling behind his left ear - and rather pale, as in the description.

And – not very Mannish.

Or a girl, for that matter.

He's dressed in a pair of tight jeans and a black sweater; a brightly green tank top flashes underneath. His shoes are dark with sharply green laces. There's a thin silver bracelet on his right wrist and both of his delicately pointed ears are pierced, more than once. But it doesn't look extravagant or ugly: it suits him shockingly fine. Overall, he is both simply clad but also making quite a few heads turn. Might be because he's an Elf.

Wait. An Elf?

Torn and confused and embarrassed, because now in retrospect it's quite obvious that Legolas is an Elf (all that talk about trees, not to mention the snark!), and Gimli isn't sure what to do, if he should really approach this person or turn away and pretend that it's nothing – but he can't just do that. It wouldn't be fair. It would be outright mean and then he'd lose his beta forever and—

But by Mahal, his face. His _eyes_. They are clear blue like a piece of sky and now quite wide, (worriedly?) scanning the street.

Gimli has seen plenty of Elves, mind. But they had always appeared faceless before. Their flawless, pristine skin and smooth cheeks meant nothing. Legolas' lips are slightly pouty, but not overly much so; his chin is of course completely clean, but it doesn't look strange in the Dwarf's eyes and he wonders if it would feel as soft to the touch as he thinks it would. Their light tilting voices didn't attract. Now, he is struck by a strong desire to hear Legolas speak, to finally hear his voice, not just having mute lines staring at him.

Obviously not having seen him yet, the Elf shifts and glances around, absently twisting a golden lock of hair around his left forefinger.

Abruptly Gimli is spurred into motion. He crosses the street. Momentarily he loses sight of the Elf, surrounded by tall Men as well as Dwarves and his pulse grows more rapid. Nervously, he tries smoothening down his beard. Will the Elf be okay with it? He knows he's a Dwarf, sure, but still. Maybe he doesn't really like Dwarves that much really. What if he finds him repulsive? Too short, too alien, his hands too rough and his voice too deep? What if they won't work together in real life like they do online? _What if-?_

All right. This is it. Deep breaths.

He marches up to the Elf and clears his throat.

"Hello there! Are you called Legolas, by any chance?"

The Elf startles, turning around. He stares at him for a second, eyes widening. Gimli looks back at him, meeting the gaze; he has to crane his neck, and now he notices that the Elf's breaths are ever so slightly audible, despite the rather heavy traffic around them. He's never thought the Firstborn breathed so loud.

_Is he just as nervous?_

Then, the Elf's face crack up in a beaming smile. And by Mahal, he's _beautiful_.

"Yes, that's me," he says. His voice is clear and soft and Gimli shivers momentarily at hearing it, finally - Legolas' _voice_. "You must be Gimli." He extends a hand. The digits are long and slender, like the rest of him.

"I must be. Pleased to meet you."

He takes the hand, soft in his own rougher one. For a moment, they just stand there, hand in hand. He's pretty sure the Elf can feel his rapid heartbeat, but Legolas' face is somewhat difficult to read.

"Um, should we go inside?" Gimli says then, a bit awkwardly, releasing him.

"Of course. Lead the way, Master Dwarf," Legolas says.

The Elf follows him inside, a small bell ringing as the door opens. Inside, it's warmer and it's rather crowded; both youths and office workers have gathered, lunching with friends and colleagues. "Let's order something," the Elf murmurs.

Gimli can't quite take his eyes off of him. It takes him a moment to reply.

"Of… of course," he says, quietly cursing his inaptness. He should be calm and polite and _normal_; not acting like some love-struck fool! "Let's."

Today, Butterbur is there, the barista smiling merrily as they approach the counter. He puts a newly polished cup on a nearby shelf before moving to stand behind the cash register. "Good day, sirs! What will you have today?"

"Just a simple black coffee, please. Um…"

"A latte, please," the Elf fills in smoothly.

The man nods, humming. "Anything else?"

"Oh," the Elf says, rapidly scanning the menu; "two raspberry muffins, please."

"It'll be just a minute, Master Elf. There'll be some coming fresh out of the oven just now."

"Thank you."

As the man quickly and accurately prepares their orders, Gimli shifts from foot to foot, trying to keep his pulse in check.

It's happening.

It's finally happening.

Legolas is there, breathing and _real_ and so shockingly gorgeous. The Elf, in turn, appears to have some difficulty keeping still. But his pleasant smile never falters and his tone remains calm, like that of a trained warrior in the heat of battle. When Gimli completely fails to notice their orders being ready, Legolas accepts a tray carrying the two cups, politely thanking the barista. Then the Elf turns to the Dwarf, shocking him out of his stupor. The Elf's eyes are fixed upon his.

_Mahal, I hope my beard looks OK,_ Gimli barely manages to think, momentarily blinded by Legolas' bright smile.

"Let's find a table before it's taken. This place is more crowded than I anticipated."

"There's a terrace at the back," Gimli blurts out. "Quite secluded. We could go there, if, if you want to?"

"Certainly! I'd like to be able to enjoy in the sunlight."

The door is open; here, it's slightly calmer, and they find a table there, near the adjourning stone wall. This way of the building isn't facing any large street; there are a few houses there, and one of them has an extensive rose garden, the smell of flowers drifting over. Honey bees hum at a distance. Soft autumn sun floods down here and the Elf relishes it, letting the Dwarf – after politely offering the first chair, which Gimli refused after seeing Legolas' face relax in the yellow light – take the more shadowed seat. Gimli doesn't mind. Too much sun only makes his skin itch anyway.

"So," he says at length, grasping wildly at any subject he can come up with. "Where are you from, then? I mean, have you always lived in Mithlond?"

"Well, I'm born in Mirkwood, in the north," Legolas says. Gimli nods. He's heard of the city, known for its extensive parks and surrounding forests, since it's an old Elf abode. "I'm an only child. When my mother died, when I was five, father grew tired of living there. Old painful memories, I think. So we moved to Mithlond. Father purchased a mansion there."

"Ah. Yes. I have a cousin there," Gimli fills in.

"You seem to have a lot of cousins."

"Well, I do but I am only really close to Fíli and Kíli, since they live here. They often cause me a great deal of pain, but also much amusement."

There's a pause. Gimli stirs his coffee – although there's no need for it – and the Elf takes a moment to look more closely at the surroundings. He doesn't quite know what to say at first.

"Myself, I don't have any close cousins or other family that I spend time with, other than my father. But my friends the twins, Elladan and Elrohir and Aragorn – he's a Man from Minas Tirith originally, their foster brother – but anyway, they're rather close to me. I went to kindergarten with them. But then my father had me home-schooled and, well, it's become a bit lonely, I don't get to see them as much now." The Elf trails off, taking a sip of the latte.

* * *

To begin with conversation is staggering, and he worried over every word. Then, after a few minutes, it's easier. The words flow and Gimli nods, humming in response – Legolas likes that noise, coming from deep down, as if it is rooted in the earth itself.

He is unlike anything that Legolas has previously imagined.

He has seen Dwarves before; met and talked with them, especially those brief two years he lived in Edoras, which is close to Aglarond, famous for its Dwarven settlements within the Glittering Caves. But never to this extent. And he's never had monthly-long contact with them beforehand.

And he's never really _looked_ at them either.

Gimli is short and stout and his hands look very strong. His shirt sits tight around his biceps. His red hair is slightly curled at the edges and he repeatedly tries to smoothen it out – probably unconsciously - while Legolas wonders why he does that. His hair looks just fine and Legolas is quite curious: it's rougher than Elven hair, and he'd like to run his fingers through it, to feel the texture.

The thought makes his face heat up and he silently prays that the Dwarf doesn't notice.

The Dwarf's beard is neatly combed; parts of it braided thickly, the ends of the plaits marked by metal clasps. His skin is darker than Legolas' own, rougher but not necessarily flawed or ugly. His jeans are frayed at the edges, having seen better days.

All in all, he's just the kind of person his father would oppose to him associating with. If only he _knew_ …!

Suddenly realizing that he's staring, Legolas looks away, toward the nearby garden. Maybe choosing to wear tight jeans was a bad idea. He tugs at the bottom of his jumper.

"You all right?" Gimli asks. His voice is earthy and warm.

"Yes, yes," Legolas says hurriedly. Needing to occupy himself with something, anything, lest he bursts, he picks up one of the muffins and hands it over the table. "Here. Have one."

"Oh? I thought – but thanks, anyway. You hadn't needed."

The Dwarf takes the offering and briefly, their hands touch - just the slightest brush of fingertips against bare skin. Legolas' breath hitches. Also Gimli seems to have frozen. For a moment, time goes still and there's not a single sound and – _Oh, Valar,_ Legolas manages to think once he finally manage to grasp his senses.

Tight jeans were a very, _very_ bad idea.

He withdraws and takes another, deeper sip of the latte. Okay. Calm down. For heaven's sake, this is their first meeting as _friends_, not some romantic first _date_! It's just a meeting between friends over a cup of coffee. Just a _meeting_!

If only Gimli's dark eyes would stop staring at him like that … How is he supposed to be able to calm down without a fair chance?

"So, um, anyway," he murmurs, tracing the rim of the cup, desperately trying to bring up some everyday topic. "So, what're you going to do once you've finished high school? Any plans for the future?"

"Yes," Gimli nods. "Once I've finished, I was thinking about taking a break, apply for work. Start studying in a year or so. I've simply tired of college: I need to do something _practical_. I've worked for some summers, at different places and helping out my father – he owns a jewellery workshop, but he's getting older and, well. Since I got my driver's license last autumn I've helped him out with deliveries and such – but I don't have my own car and he doesn't like me borrowing his all the time. Anyway, I've been saving up some money and am currently searching for an apartment of my own."

"Mm. That sounds nice."

And Gimli's voice is quite pleasant to listen to too …

"And you?"

"I – I've no idea really," Legolas says, a bit uncertain, struggling not to start biting his nails. (It'd be dreadful to ruin them.) "I'm not of age yet, and father's kind of adamant of wanting to have me 'where he can keep an eye on me' as he puts it."

Gimli's mouth forms an O, and he flushes slightly under the beard. The Elf can't help but thinking that it's for some other reason than a sudden realization. "I keep forgetting it's different for Elves," he says. "Isn't it at 21 or something?"

"Yes," Legolas nods. He scrunches up his nose in annoyance and a smile tugs at Gimli's lips: the Elf looks insanely _cute_. "I've told him I can look after myself and really, I'm tired of just sitting there, in my room, having no purpose. I … Well, I did send in an application for LAW Uni – umm, Lórien Art and Writing – and hope to be accepted. It's a boarding school down in the south. I've somehow managed to fool father into thinking it's a Law and Economy line I'll be attending. He'll be _insane_ when he finally figures it out. Luckily – well, I'd guess you could say _luckily,_ from a certain point of view at least - he's too busy working to do any proper research."

Gimli doesn't like the shadow that falls on the Elf's face as he says this, and something tugs in his chest; it's painful and sudden, this realization that he doesn't want Legolas to look so troubled and ... and _unhappy_.

"I'm sure he'll come around," Gimli says and clears his throat, consciously stilling his hands before he can raise either one in the Elf's direction. "He's your Da and he'll realize you're not a child any longer, and that you can make your own decisions. Well. I think so, at least."

The Elf smiles; unable to not be encouraged by the Dwarf's words, however gruff they may be.

"What of your family?" Legolas says curiously. "You said your father's a jeweller?"

"Yes, he is. My mother died when I was little, too." They share a moment of silence; a mutual understanding of loss passes between them. Then it's over and Gimli smiles fondly. "But it's a long time ago. I'm an only child. Da is patiently waiting for me to move out, I think. I ask to borrow his workshop sometimes to teach myself the art of jewellery making, but keep taking over it, nearly locking him out of his own shop. He might have tired with my antics of late nights up, pouring music through the speakers at ungodly hours and the occasional video game night with my friends, well, mainly my cousins but there's Dwalin and Nori too, they attend the same school as I. And I'm not, well, not doing it on purpose of course, bothering him at night I mean. I just, sort of, keep forgetting? Sometimes I think he wants to tug his beard off and mine as well in exasperation."

Abruptly Legolas starts laughing. The sound is bright and clear, much like the Elf himself; Gimli isn't unaware of the way people sitting at the other tables spread over the porch suddenly hush and twist their heads. Elves make a small minority here at Erebor and very few ever take to visiting the Prancing Pony.

"Well, that doesn't surprise me!" Legolas says, chuckles fading but mirth lingering in his eyes. "I admit, I have similar habits, but can barely use headphones without inducing my father's wrath. The sharp hearing of Elves, you know," he says, gesturing toward his own ears and Gimli's gaze is drawn to the sharp tip, so elegantly alien and fragile-looking.

"Aye. It's said you folk could pinpoint the exact location of a gunshot two miles off by hearing alone. A theory which I _highly_ doubt," Gimli says with a smirk. "Your high and mighty heads are probably full of too much fluff to decipher such complex information."

Legolas almost collapses over the table, brimming over with giggles, and the Dwarf swiftly has to reach out to save their drinks and muffins from being crushed.

"What - fluff! Valar, I've got to remember that." The Elf sharply wheezes for breath, doubling over and his cheeks turn red; and momentarily Gimli worries for the Elf's welfare. "_Fluff_! Got to tell the twins. _Definitely_."

The Dwarf looks at him amused, but his heart warms and almost _physically_ swells up at seeing the Elf, so openly laughing and his gorgeous eyes twinkling, and, is there a pair of tiny dimples on his cheeks? They too are _far_ too endearing to be allowed. Aulë! That the Elf has to be so distracting!

He's simply …

Simply _stunning_.

_By Mahal!_ he thinks. He has a strong urge to reach out, to abandon the cups and spill the coffee on the wooden floor, take the Elf by the shoulders and press his lips to his – and – and, oh by Aulë! He can't be sitting here, thinking like that! The Elf would freak out for sure!

_I've got it bad._

It takes every atom in his body to stifle the urge and keep sitting, leant back, watching the Elf compose himself from the giggle attack.

If only he'd stop being so, so … adorable!

_I've got it really, really bad._

* * *

When Butterbur arrives at last with the receipt, Legolas quickly pulls out his wallet but Gimli says, holding up a hand; "No, no, it's my treat. You're the guest."

The Elf reluctantly abides. "Fine. But next time I'll pay."

"Very well." Adding some extra coins for tip, the Dwarf turns to his companion. "Are we feeling finished?"

"Yes, I'm quite full and also curious; you said that Helm's Deep is nearby?" The Elf stands,

Gimli grins. "Yeah. We could go see if there's anything on the agenda today or in the nearest few days."

"That sounds good."

Together, they make their way from The Prancing Pony and out on the street. The worst lunch traffic has now passed and the city is quieter. They pass by a row of shops and Gimli startles when the Elf suddenly pulls them to halt, exclaiming: "A second hand shop! You never told me there was one. Let's go!"

"Wait," he barely manages to say before he is more or less hauled inside the shop which, during all his years in Erebor, he's never before set his foot in.

It has a faint but pleasant scent of homeliness and in the background some music is being played. Not the ordinary pop that one may hear at the average shopping mall, but something somewhat friendlier and softer to the ears. Legolas dives quickly into the heart of the boutique. Muttering on his breath about the craziness of Elves, Gimli stomps after him.

"We never agreed on this," he says when he catches up with the Elf, who's looking through a rack of leather jackets.

"Well, as you said, I'm the guest and thus as the host, you should be kind to show me around your hometown. Including second-hand shops. Oh, look at this! And only 5£50."

Gimli can't stop the groan. "By Aulë…" He's stuck now, he realizes, with no little amount of horror. Stuck in _The Treasure Trove _with a mad Elf and no way out.

The Elf in turn pays his pained whimper no or little heed. He's now moved on from jackets to trousers. "And this! They're _perfect_."

Legolas turns slightly, clearly excited as he moves from item to item, but still holding onto the jeans, his back momentarily turned to the Dwarf. Squinting somewhat in the dim light, Gimli cocks his head and tries picturing said pair on the Elf.

_Ah_.

A strangled noise leaves Gimli's throat. Well. They'd probably fit him quite nicely…quite nicely indeed. Especially if bending -

_No! No! Don't go there now!_

His pulse is racing for the altogether wrong reasons.

"Just a moment, all right? Five minutes, maximum," the Elf suddenly says as if finally realizing the Dwarf's plight.

"I'll hold you onto that," Gimli – barely – manages to reply. His gaze wants to travel back to inappropriate places. By Mahal, what if someone _sees_?

The five minutes turn out to be … well, more than five minutes. And by the time he reaches the cashier, Legolas is carrying more than just one piece of clothing. But he looks so _happy _and vibrant and Gimli doesn't want to ruin it for him.

It's quite amusing actually, watching him dash to and fro, and seeing the brows on the cashier (a young Man, probably his first day at work, poor thing) raise very high near the hairline as the pile of various items is presented on the desk.

* * *

Once they're finally outside again, the Elf, carrying two overstuffed paper bags, looks at him quite sheepishly. "Sorry about that, it went quite overboard," he says, the tips of his ears turning red. Gimli glances at the ears, curious if they often turn that colour, depending on the Elf's mood. "But I saw one of the blogs I'm following talk about this very Treasure Trove and I just couldn't _resist_."

Still not quite over the thought of Legolas in those jeans, Gimli awkwardly fumbles for words.

"Ah, it's no trouble, really. But it was some quite _long_ five minutes."

"Uhm, sorry," the Elf says sheepishly but Gimli doesn't miss his smirk.

* * *

"So this must be the famous Legolas."

Gimli's ears turn red. Famous! How does Dwalin even _know_? The heavily tattooed Dwarf only smirks at him, and the red-head glares back. Of course. His cousins – who else?

Legolas takes it in good stride, smiling pleasantly. "Hello, and yes, I guess I must be." He holds out a hand and Dwalin takes it and shakes it firmly. The Elf's doesn't even blink at the strong grasp. "And you?"

"Dwalin, at your service."

"Pleasure to meet you, Dwalin. Gimli mentioned you in one of his emails, I think."

"Nothing bad, hopefully."

The Elf grins. "Oh no, I assure you nothing as such. His exasperation was rather aimed at his two cousins, if I remember correctly."

Dwalin looks weirdly amused. "I rather like this one, Gimli," he says to the other Dwarf. "Make sure to keep him around."

Gimli is too busy spluttering to form any sensible words as Dwalin pats him heavily in the back, nearly making him fall over, and for a moment he's sure that Kíli and Fíli have spilled their 'matchmaking plans' to the other Dwarf explaining this knowing glint that Dwalin has in his dark eyes.

Before Gimli can recover, Dwalin withdraws. "Well, I got to go. It was nice meeting you. Good luck, Gimli!"

He's sent spluttering again.

Legolas just smirks. Oh, that _snark_. Should be forbidden. "Is he a classmate?"

"Sort of, yeah. But more of a pain in the ass." He's not sure on how to elaborate more than that to be honest. Their friendship is rather complicated.

"Now I don't think he seemed that bad…"

"He's always nice on the first day. Can be heck of a frightening guy, that Dwarf. I think he trains Taekwondo or whatever it was."

"No worries," Legolas smiles, "I've got a black belt."

Gimli chokes. Or would have had he been drinking anything. "You serious?"

The Elf just smirks mysteriously, refusing to give any clear answers. Naturally. Elves. Secretive and odd, the lot of them, even if this one has a very,_very_ sexy –

Which he means to say good. Pretty. Beautiful. Yes. A beautiful smile. Very … elfish. Nothing about his ass, even if the curve ...

Nope. Really.

"Oh," the Elf mutters disappointedly as they reach the notice board placed on the wall outside Helm's Deep. "We've missed today's show."

"No matter," Gimli says immediately. "We'll go tomorrow."

"Really?" Legolas asks. "I mean, if you've got other things to do…"

"Of course. I'm not really busy otherwise. It's Friday and we hardly have any classes anyway for the remainder of term." He looks at the board, at the large poster attached to it. "Let's see; they show 'Beren and Lúthien' ..."

"I've only heard of it, but never seen it," the Elf admits quietly. His eyes gleam.

Gimli is usually sceptical to romantic theatre like that, but the look on Legolas' face has him giving in, all protests dying before they reach his tongue. "It's gotten some good reviews; I think it's worth a look," he finds himself saying and the Elf's eyes lights up. "It starts at half past three. So, what do you say? We could meet here by then, or …?"

"I'd gladly meet up with you earlier," Legolas fills in quickly. "I have nothing else to do."

"Then it's settled! Twelve o'clock, maybe? We can meet by The Prancing Pony."

The Elf beams like a living ray of sun. "Sounds good."


End file.
